


An Impractical Affliction

by kirkmills



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU of Practical Magic too, Doesn't exactly follow the movie, F/F, Mentions of past SwanFire, Practical Magic AU, Regina is a teacher cos why not, Takes place in the Practical Magic universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:09:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2305922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirkmills/pseuds/kirkmills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Practical Magic AU. Love in the Swan family is a little difficult, seeing as their ancestor Maria cursed all who ever love them to die - and none know it better than Emma Swan. With two dead parents, and a dead husband, all Emma wants is a quiet life and to finally be free from heartbreak. But loving a Swan woman is a dangerous thing, and unfortunately for Emma there's a little boy and a beautiful woman in her life who seem determined to do just that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meqhanory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meqhanory/gifts).



> I wanna say massive thank yous to everyone who's cheered me on this time around, it's helped more than you know. Also to our wonderful mods for once again giving me the motivation to get off my ass. You guys are the greatest. 
> 
> Most importantly I want to thank my fantastic beta ohthesefeelingz, who once again has put up with my nonsensical ramblings and appalling grasp of grammar. The woman is a star.
> 
> Shout out to the Cristina to my Cristina because she knows my soul, and she's always there come D-Day.
> 
> Finally thank you to the wonderful meqhanory for my beautiful mix, which may or may not have made it rain on my face a little bit.
> 
>   
> [Listen](http://8tracks.com/meqhanory/misplaced)   
> [Give her Love](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/SQBBSept2014/works/2301275)   
> 

The town of Storybrooke, Maine, was much like any other small town. It had a little town hall, and a clock tower. It had a school, a main street with neat rows of different colored store fronts, and a fresh food market on Sundays. It was normal. An ordinary little town in an ordinary little corner of the state.

Only Storybrooke, unlike most other towns, was home to a family of witches.

The Swan family had been living in Storybrooke for hundreds of years, and as long as they’d lived there - they’d been shunned for their magical abilities. It hadn’t always been awful. Once upon a time they had in fact been revered for their power. They had helped with the natural order of things, acted as healers and helpers to any and all who needed them.

But steadily, jealousy of their power turned to fear, and fear into hatred. The hatred grew so bitter that when one Swan woman - Maria - fell pregnant with the wrong man’s child, she was cast out. Branded harlot and witch, Maria ended up exiled, waiting for her lover to come to her. When he never returned for her and his child, grief and heartbreak turned Maria’s warm heart stone cold, and so she cast a curse to last all the generations of her family: that any man who loved a Swan woman would be doomed to die.

Over the years many a Swan woman fell in love, as people are inclined to do, but no matter what they did to try and save their loved ones from Maria’s curse, eventually the death watch beetle would come, marking the doom that awaited them, and yet another Swan woman would end with her heart broken.

The situation it seemed, was hopeless. The curse was inevitable, and ever lasting. No man had ever escaped it and, it seemed, none ever would.

 ***

The prospects of her own love life aside, Emma Swan had suffered enough at the hands of the curse by the time she was only eight years old. Her father had been no exception to the death watch beetle’s mark, and the grief of losing her husband had proved too much for Emma’s mother, who’d died not long after. In her heart, Emma had never quite forgiven her for it.

Emma had gone, along with her adoptive sister Ruby, to live with her mother’s crazy Aunts - Mal and Lena - in their strange old house on the edge of town. Things with the Aunts were different. Rules were shady, bedtimes were never observed, and by ten Emma was quite sure she never wanted to see another piece of chocolate cake again.

It wasn’t a bad life. Odd, certainly. Difficult, often. School was never fun when children inherited their parents’ prejudices - and having taunts chanted at you all day every day was hardly conducive to a nurturing working environment. They managed though. Emma and Ruby, Aunt Mal and Aunt Lena. They stayed in their little non-routines of non-enforced toothbrushing and brownies for breakfast. Of spells practice instead of homework and all sorts of magical traditions that made the townsfolk cower in their beds but the Aunts laugh for weeks at a time.

Emma had never been as interested in the magic as Ruby. The power came naturally to her, something she’d learnt early in life, but she didn’t much like to use it. Ruby, on the other hand - who hadn’t been born a witch - was fascinated. The little brunette would sit for hours watching the Aunts cook up potions and remedies. She’d sneak out at night to peer over the stair railings and watch, riveted, as townspeople came in secret to desperately beg for a magical solution to their problems.

She’d always been more adventurous, Ruby, so it was no surprise to Emma when, on the night after her eighteenth birthday, her adoptive sister packed her bags and left. Flying out of the door with whispered excitement about Tibet, and monkeys, and falling in love. There’d been blood pacts, and promises to be careful, to write at least once a week. Emma was scared for her, honestly, but there was a part of her that was jealous too. A part of her wanted nothing more than to get out of town - to leave Storybrooke and its witch-hating townsfolk behind and never look back - but she was a Swan, and Swan’s didn’t leave Storybrooke. Despite everything, it was their _home_ , it wasn’t in their DNA to want to leave.

So Emma stayed. She lived a quiet life, working in the garden, keeping an eye on the Aunts. Eventually she opened up a little shop on the main street, selling natural potions and balms. It wasn’t the most riveting work, but it kept her occupied - and it was a simple life, uncomplicated. She kept her head down, didn’t get in anyone’s way - hardly spoke to anyone who wasn’t family. The way she figured, the less people she interacted with, the less likely she was to ever fall in love. And falling in love was something she most assuredly did not want to do. Ever. Love had ruined her parents’ lives, and countless of her ancestors’. Love was what killed her mother and left her an orphan, it was what drove the citizens of the town to come to the people they feared and despised for relief. It was what stole her beloved sister away to distant countries.

Love, Emma was sure, could only result in bad things - and she was adamantly against falling in it.

Which is why it was so strange when, one sunday afternoon, she suddenly found herself smitten. His name was Neal, and he worked in the market. She’d noticed him around town before, in a vague acknowledgment of attraction, but she’d never so much as talked to him otherwise. But one day he was standing in her shop, staring at a natural soap in his hand like he’d no idea how it got there, and suddenly she’d felt like her very world revolved around him and his strangely soppy expression.

After that, everything had happened fairly quickly. One day Neal was standing in her shop staring at a bar of soap, the next he was her husband, the father of their child - Henry, her little boy. The next she heard a beetle and everything fell apart.

Neal died on a Wednesday, hit by a truck that just didn’t see him. He didn’t even make it to the hospital. Henry was three and a half at the time, and he cried the entire way through the funeral. Ruby wrote a letter from Hong Kong, heartfelt and love filled and enough to have lifted anyone’s spirit. But Emma wasn’t anyone. She had tried so hard not to fall for it, love. To avoid the curse that had haunted her family for so long - but instead she had become a prime example. Worse, was that unlike most of her predecessors, Emma had had a male child - and what that meant no one knew, but there hadn’t been one in generations. The few the Aunts knew of had all died, just the same as their fathers’, and Emma could only hope, pray for the safety of her little boy that a beetle shaped omen of death would never come to claim him.

They’d moved back in with the Aunts, though Emma had vowed neither she nor Henry would have anything to do with their magical ways. It was just for convenience, and company. Not to mention Henry - who she was all too aware she wasn’t in a state to parent at that moment. The Aunts were eccentric, and lax on discipline, but they were good and loving and kind and that was what Henry needed. Henry needed a little lightness in his life, Emma was too broken and bitter to be that for him, at least for a while. She needed to heal, to move on. She should have known this would happen, and the blonde wanted to kick herself for letting love and happiness blind her to the inevitability of pain and loss. She’d been naive, despite all her best efforts to the contrary. It had cost her her husband, and the fear of it costing her her son as well hardened her. Naivety and love had caused her all this grief, and consequently, neither was something she ever planned on falling victim to again. Ever.

Especially not love.

 

 


	2. Chapter 1

“Henry, sweetie, hurry up we need to go or we're gonna be late again,” Emma calls up the stairs to the response of an echoing crash and then the shuffling sound of approaching feet.

“Did you brush your teeth?” she asks as he appears on the top step, and the little brown-eyed boy freezes, brow furrowing momentarily in confusion before a look of determination sets across his features.

“Yes,” he affirms, with a decisive nod of his head.

Emma narrows her eyes at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says again with certainty, jumping his way down the stairs.

“Come here,” she instructs and he hops over, steadying his small hands on her shoulders and breathing gently on her.

“There, see,” he says and she grins as the minty smell washes over her.

“Good boy.” He grins back at her and hops down the final few steps. “Backpack,” the blonde calls after her son and he whirls around - hand outstretched to take it from her. She hands it over and he shrugs it onto his back.

“Ready?” Emma asks, and he nods shyly. “Good, hurry up then - you can't be late for your first day, we don't need to give anyone in this town any more reason to dislike us.” The last part is a mumble, let out quickly under her breath, but the little boy catches it, tiny forehead creasing. The blonde doesn’t see it though, only drops a hand gently to the back of his head and starts to guide him down the hallway.

As they're walking out the door though, there's a cooing sound from above them.

“Oh my, is he leaving? Is he ready?” Aunt Mal comes sweeping down the stairs, purple dress flowing about her.

“Oh, Henry, my darling boy - look at you!” she cries, reaching out and squeezing his cheeks.

The little boy flushes, embarrassed, and Emma chuckles at him.

“He's been to school before, you know,” Emma points out to her aunt.

“Preschool,” Mal replies, fingers moving to stroke through Henry's disruly brown hair, “This is different - this is real school.”

She stares at Henry for a good long moment, eyes going a little distant - teary almost - but she quickly pulls herself together and turns back the direction she came from.

“Lena!” she calls up the stairs, not taking her eyes from the little boy. “Lena, it's time! Come see before he goes!”

There's a moments silence and then Emma's other Aunt appears at the top of the stairs, red hair falling down her back in curls not dissimilar to Emma's - color the only real difference.

“Well, would you look at that,” she smiles as she descends, moving a finger to stroke Henry's cheek. “You're a proper little gentleman now, Henry.”

“Thanks, Auntie Lena,” he grins up at her toothily, and Emma smiles too.

“Okay, okay, now we really have to go,” she insists, guiding the boy by his shoulder to the door.

“Have you packed him some lunch?” Lena asks as the Aunts follow behind them.

“Of course,” the blonde replies with a sigh. Anyone would think they thought her totally incompetent.

“What did you pack him?” Mal asks from her other side.

Emma shakes her head, she'd worried they might do this. “A sandwich, a bag of chips, and an apple,” she tells them plainly.

Both Aunts give a mock gasp of horror, then Lena carries on in a disappointed tone, “I worried as much. That's why I took the liberty of staying up to bake this.” She snaps her fingers and a large slice of chocolate cake appears, spinning in the air in front of Henry's face.

Brown eyes go almost comically wide, and his face breaks out into a delighted grin.  “That for me, Lena?” he asks, awed.

“No, it most certainly is not,” Emma says firmly, reaching out to grab the floating confection from the air. As she reaches, though, the cake dances just out of her reach.

Mal and Lena chuckle. “Looks like that cake's not for you, petal,” Mal tells her.

“Of course it's not,” Lena agrees, “I baked it just for my special boy - isn't that right, Henry?”

Henry nods violently, and the Aunts let out another chuckle.

Emma throws Lena a look, but the older woman just shrugs. “Well, you wouldn't let him eat it for breakfast.”

The blonde lets out another long, exasperated sigh. “Fine, fine, alright. But we really have to go.”

“Noted,” Lena replies, with a comic wave of her finger. The slice of cake disappears, and then there's a rustling sound from Henry's backpack.

“There we are.”

“Good, now we're leaving,” Emma tells them sternly - though there's fondness beneath her exasperation.

“Have a lovely day, my darling boy,” Mal says, leaning down to give Henry a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“Don't be home late,” Lena adds, “we're having muffins for supper.”

Emma rolls her eyes and guides Henry out of the door, giving her Aunts one last long, pointed look over her shoulder. There’s no real aggression in it though.

***

“Mommy,  I don't wanna.” Henry curls into her leg from where he's standing next to her on the sidewalk, staring at the school before him.

“I know, baby, I know.”

“What if they tease me like before?”

Emma flinches at the memories of the way even preschoolers had picked up on their parents' prejudices - had invented the first new taunt in hundreds of years just for the first Swan son in generations.

The people feared the witchcraft in the Swan family - and had as far back as her ancestor Maria. Maria who had cursed all her descendants to kill men just by loving them. For any man that loved a Swan woman would undoubtedly meet an untimely demise.

Emma shivers as thoughts of the curse swim through her head. She doesn't want to think about it, can't think about it. Not right now, certainly.

“I can't promise they won't say nasty things to you, Henry,” she tells her son, apology in her tone, “but remember what we say about nasty words?”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” he repeats and Emma shakes her head.

“No, Henry sweetie, that's what normal people who never have anything bad happen to them say and it's stupid. What do we say about nasty words?”

His eyes light up and he grins. “Throw 'em right back?”

Emma grins at him too, “That's right, little man. They call you names and you call them some right back, okay?”

He nods, cheered up considerably, and Emma holds up a hand for him to high five. Okay, she knows this isn't a great lesson. It probably comes under '101 things never to do while parenting', but normal parenting rules just can't always apply to her.

Normally, yeah, she'd tell a kid to ignore it. But the kids in this town have been taunting Swan children for far too long to even remember, and certainly don't seem inclined to stop anytime soon. And her son needs an education, so he has to fight the bullies somehow.

“You gonna be okay in there?” Emma asks then, face turning serious once more.

Henry nods, determination coming over his little face.

“Alright then,” she takes a deep breath. “Give momma a kiss before you go.”

He reaches up on his toes, and she leans down, pulling her little boy into a brief hug as he plants a big sloppy kiss on her cheek.

“I'll pick you up at 3, okay?”

“Okay, mom, I'll see you later.”

“See you later, baby,” she replies, straightening up and watching as he potters across the schoolyard with the other kids.

There's a tightness in her chest that she tries to ignore as she watches him go. She can't let her mind wander away. She doesn't want to think about the thing it keeps trying to remind her of. For now she's just a mother watching her kid go to school for the first time. There's no other emotions playing out within her. There aren't.

With a sigh, Emma turns and heads back off down the street. She needs to get to work anyway.

***

Regina Mills is new in town. It wasn't her first choice, coming to this strange little place shrouded in mystery, but jobs are jobs and teaching positions are hard to find. Storybrooke Elementary, however, had a single job going teaching Kindergarten, and since that was her preferred age range - she'd snapped it up immediately they offered.

She doesn't know much about the town, only that it's a rather insular population, but once she'd got there she'd found herself wondering if she'd inadvertently stumbled into the twilight zone. For all anyone talked about there was witchcraft. Not just witchcraft though - specifically one family in town, and how they're all known to be witches who killed their husbands.

She'd been incredibly curious, given all the gossip, to then look at her register for the upcoming year and find that she would be teaching one of the so called witch's children. Regina had never been one to concede to preconceived notions, she had always liked to meet people and form her own opinions. But she had to admit, from everything she had heard, the idea of teaching Henry Swan was more than a little daunting.

Regina sighs as she fiddles with the things on her desk, straightening everything up until it's perfectly aligned in her attempt to keep nerves at bay. She wants to do well here, strange or not. It’s a job, and she needs one.

The sound of excited chatter reaches her ears and her back straightens instinctually, readying herself for the onslaught of childish energy about to enter her classroom.

The door swings open a moment later and a slew of brightly clothed little boys and girls spill inside, pulling and pushing at each other to get to the cloakroom. They're all laughing and chattering at each other, except for one boy - trailing behind the rest. His dark eyes are nervous, fingers wrapped so tightly around the straps of his backpack that his small knuckles are white.

Regina's heart twists slightly at the sight of it.

She moves forward with little thought, crouching down before the small boy and offering him a smile. “Hello there. I'm Miss Mills,” she introduces herself hesitantly.

The boy gives her a shy smile in return, one that inexplicably makes her heart flutter, and reaches out a little hand - apparently for her to shake.

She does so with a tiny chuckle and his smile widens.

“Hello, Miss Mills,” he replies. “I'm Henry.”

Regina's breath catches in her throat slightly as he says the name. There's only one Henry in her class - but of course he doesn't know that so carries on anyway.

“I'm Henry. Henry Swan.”

“Oh,” she can't help the sound coming out of her mouth. From everything she's heard of the Swan family, from all the crazy images her mind has provided her, she'd practically imagined that Henry Swan would be a devil child. The kind you find in horror movies, darkness following them around like a cloud.

This little boy though, he seems, well, sweet.

“Are you going to be my teacher?” he asks with wide, curious eyes.

She hesitates, then nods, “Yes, Henry, I believe I am.”

“Okay,” he nods himself, “then I should tell you that I'm good at math, but my spelling is ‘bismal,” he tells her seriously, and she can't help the incredulous chuckle that leaves her mouth.

“I think you mean abysmal,” she corrects gently, “and who told you that?”

“I heard mommy say it to Aunt Mal,” he tells her, expression serious,, and Regina frowns. Maybe the child is the only exception to the town's stories - because that statement certainly isn't winning the mother any points in her book. You don’t tell children they’re bad at things.

“And why did she say that?”

“Because Aunt Mal was letting me play with her in the greenhouse when she was meant to be doing work with me.”

“And what was she meant to be working on with you?” Regina asks, unintentionally riveted by this little boy and his large brown eyes.

“My spellings,” he gives a sheepish little grin that’s half-smile half-grimace.

“But she wasn't doing that?”

Henry shakes his head. “Nope, just my spells. No ings.”

Regina freezes.

“Your Aunt was teaching you spells?” she asks carefully, and he nods.

“Yep,” he says - like it's the most normal thing in the world. “That's why I'm so good at math, see, cos the Aunts let me measure out all their 'gredients.”

The brunette just stares at the boy, shocked, but then the rest of the class come pouring back in from the cloakroom and she shakes her head, standing up again to greet them.

Henry disappears to the back of the classroom, choosing the desk furthest from everyone and stowing his backpack carefully underneath it, looking around warily as if someone might try to steal it. It's a move she's seen in children before - though normally a good deal older than him - the move of those who are used to being picked on.

It makes her heart ache for him, despite the weird conversation they might have just had. The rest of the class take their seats, and eventually start to quiet down - at which point she grabs a piece of chalk off her desk and turns to the board.

This is probably going to be a very odd day.

***

Emma's jolted from her task of  grinding lavender by her cell ringing obnoxiously in her pocket. The small device buzzes against her thigh with a vengeance and she gives a frustrated sigh before setting aside the pestle and mortar and yanking it out.

“Hello?” she asks into the phone as she answers it.

“Miss Swan?” a female voice she doesn't recognize asks her in response. There's something about it though, deep and velvety.

“Yes?” She can't help the way her hackles go up slightly, she's not unused to getting random hate calls.

“My name is Regina, Regina Mills.”

Emma says nothing, merely waiting for the woman to elaborate. She doesn't know if this is a hate call or not, but she's certainly never received one from someone with so lovely a voice.

“I'm Henry's teacher,” the woman clarifies - and Emma's heart sinks a little bit. For the woman to be calling after just the first day, this can't be good.

“Oh,” Emma replies, tone measured, “what can I do for you, Miss Mills?”

“Well, I was wondering,” the woman starts, beautiful voice tentative, “might you be able to come in and see me when you pick Henry up today?”

“Why?” Emma asks bluntly - even the woman's beautiful voice isn't enough to counter her annoyance. “What's he done this time?”

“He hasn't done anything,” the woman replies, voice turning a little icier, “I just wanted to discuss some things with you.”

“Oh,” Emma says again, slightly taken aback. She's certainly confused. “Well yes, I suppose that'll be okay.”

“Good,” the other woman replies, “well then, I'll see you at 3.”

With that she hangs up, and Emma frowns. She's never heard of this Miss Mills - and she thought she knew all the teachers at the school. But the beautiful voiced woman wants to talk to her about Henry - and so far hasn't accused him of trying to curse the entire class during recess, so that must be something. She'll just have to wait until three to see what happens.

 ***

Regina hates that she's nervous about meeting Henry's mother. She knows she shouldn't let the rumors get to her, but there's something about the woman - about the mystery surrounding her. Something about the mystery surrounding her son.

She hasn't managed to get a clear answer on what exactly happened to the boy's father, all she knows is that he died - like every husband in the Swan family had for as long as anyone could remember. She'd heard someone say they thought it was a family tradition - some sort of ritual sacrifice or something. Regina sincerely hopes that isn't the case.

There's a knock on the door, rousing her from her thoughts, and then the door's opening and Regina finds herself just a tiny bit breathless.

The woman who's just entered her classroom certainly doesn't look the type for ritualistic murder. For runway, maybe. She's tall and lean, with striking green eyes and shining blonde hair that falls in loose curls halfway down her back. She's dressed in dark, perfectly fitted skinnies, there's a leather jacket slung lazily over her shoulder in a way that makes the muscles on her arm pop - considering she's only wearing a black tank - and jesus if the woman doesn't have guns.

“Miss Mills?” she asks and Regina has to shake herself quickly, snapping back to the matter at hand.

“Yes,” she replies, standing and walking across to the woman, extending a hand towards her, “and you must be Miss Swan?”

“Emma,” the blonde replies, staring at Regina's hand warily - as if it might be some sort of trick - before finally reaching out to shake it, “call me Emma.”

Regina gives a tight smile. “I’d rather call you Miss Swan for now, it's probably more appropriate.”

It's a difficult sentence to get out, because she finds she doesn't really mean it. From first glance there’s nothing she’d like more than to get on first name terms with this woman, but she's at work, this is her job. She’s meant to stay formal.

A look of annoyance crosses the blonde's features and she pulls her hand back. “Very well, Miss Mills.” There's a slight inflection over the name that tells Regina she hasn't won herself any favors. “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Well...” Regina returns to her seat behind her desk, gesturing for Emma, Miss Swan, to take the one opposite. “Obviously it's about Henry.”

“What about Henry?” Emma - she's stuck in her head as Emma - asks snappily.

“I take it you're aware that he seems a very lonely child?” she starts, cautious. “It's been made clear to me even just from this first day that he's different from the other children.”

Emma's eyes narrow dangerously and Regina takes a deep breath, hoping that the tales of the Swan women's abilities are just that. She doesn't much feel like being turned into a toad today.

“What I mean to say,” she carries on quickly - before Emma can interject, “is that the other children seem to have a misplaced hatred for your son, as evidenced by the, erm,” she coughs, “the taunts.”

Emma's face takes on an expression of shock. “Misplaced?” she asks and Regina startles. She thought the woman might have some sort of reaction to the fact her child was being taunted with bad rhymes all day.

“Miss Swan, you are aware that the other children have _rhymes_ , yes? Surely this is something you want to address? This kind of bullying can have terrible effects, and it’s clear he’s already a very lonely little boy.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, they've had those rhymes for hundreds of years, we just deal with them in our family,” the blonde shoots back, waving her hand dismissively before turning purpose-filled green eyes directly to Regina’s. “You said ' _misplaced_ '?”

Regina's brow furrows. “Well...yes?”

The look of consternation, and slight amazement, quickly turns to a look of comprehension passing over Emma's face, and then she grins - the action not exactly a joyous one - and leans back in her chair, fingers folding together over her flat stomach.

“You're new in town,” she remarks, and it's not a question.

“I don't much see what that has to do with anything.”

Emma shakes her head, letting out a low chuckle. “I suppose the rumor mill hasn't caught up to you yet, then. Don't you know that we're all witches?”

Regina's mouth falls open.

“Oh you _do_ ,” Emma laughs back at her. “Well, l you must be awfully brave, Miss Mills, confronting a known witch about her child. We turn people into frogs, don't you know?”

The teacher bristles, not liking the aggression in the other woman’s tone. “Do you now?”

Emma’s eyebrows raise, a predatory look crossing her features. It could almost be mistaken for flirty if it weren’t for the true threat hanging in her vivid green eyes. “Kill our husbands too,” she says, completely straight faced. The brunette curses herself inwardly for the gulp she takes around the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not sure I believe that, Miss Swan,” she replies, though her voice is a little shaky, considerably quieter than it was a moment before.

The so-called witch stands, pushing up from her chair and leaning forward with hands steadied on the desk in front of her. “How sure are you?” she challenges, eyes narrowing.

“As sure as I am that witches do not exist,” Regina leans forward too, arms folded on top of the desk, finding her voice again. She won’t let this woman intimidate her - no matter how much like an angry supermodel she looks.

Emma laughs, the sound deep, reverberating in her chest and throat. It sends a little shiver down Regina’s spine. There’s a smile on her face at the end of it that is most assuredly not friendly. “You’ve come to the wrong town, Miss Mills,” she says, straightening up again and turning for the door.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Regina asks, becoming increasingly infuriated with how the other woman seems incapable of straight answers.

“It means,” Emma turns long enough to catch her eye again, the green in them burning hot like fire, “don’t talk about my son. You don’t know him, you don’t understand who he is or what his life is. You’re his teacher, Miss Mills, so teach him. His spelling really needs some work. We won’t be talking about anything else about him again, understood?”

Regina opens her mouth in shock to reply, but then the door swings open on its hinges - seemingly of its own accord - as the blonde sweeps towards it and she feels her eyes widen slightly in their sockets. Emma shoots her a wicked little grin as she exits, the door blowing shut again behind her, and the brunette is just convincing herself it was the wind - or Henry hiding on the other side - when the items on her desk start to shake violently and then her open laptop slams itself shut of its own accord, nearly trapping her fingers in the process.

She lets out a startled little yelp of surprise, eyes turning to the closed door as she hears an annoyingly beautiful chuckle disappearing down the hallway, and then back to the laptop. She looks from one to the other again several times and then slumps back in her chair, eyes still a little wide.

She may or may not have a major problem on her hands.

 

 


	3. Chapter 2

“Henry, my darling, why don’t you come and help me clean the dishes?” Lena asks, smiling down at the little boy.

Henry smiles back up at her, “Sure!” he exclaims, hopping up and grabbing Emma’s half empty plate from under her. The blonde watches with a small, fond smile on her face as the boy potters out of the room, expression turning to more of a frown as she sees Lena following along behind with plates floating in the air around her.

“You really need to stop doing that, you know,” Emma says accusingly to her other Aunt once they’ve gone. “He already takes magic for granted. I won’t have him growing up thinking its normal to be able to brush your teeth without so much as lifting a hand.”

Mal just rolls her eyes. “How about we talk about something of actual import, hmm?”

“Like what?” Emma grumbles - the Aunts have a real knack at bringing the grumpy teenager out of her.

“Like Henry’s first day,” the other blonde woman answers smoothly, “he tells me you had to talk with his teacher.”

Emma stiffens. _That_ encounter had not gone at all well, and it really was not something the Aunts needed to know about. Needless to say they would certainly not approve of her threatening a poor defenseless kindergarten teacher. Not that she thought Regina Mills was defenseless by any stretch of the imagination. She’d managed to intimidate the woman, that much was obvious - but then being faced with the sudden existence of magic did have a tendency to be a little intimidating. There’d still been steel in those brown eyes though, despite the softness on the surface.

Honestly, Emma wasn’t really sure what to make of Henry’s teacher. She didn’t like her pointing out something that was really none of her business - Henry might be lonely, but that doesn’t mean a stranger neither of them have ever met has the right to start questioning her about it. On top of which the blonde had been able to feel quite acutely that she was being judged as a parent through their entire little meet and greet - and that was something she neither wanted nor appreciated. The woman had certainly rubbed her up the wrong way, and the delight she’d taken in scaring her had been quite worryingly genuine.

Though at the same time - she’d said _misplaced_.

“Emma?” Mal stirs her from her thoughts and she shakes her head, green eyes flickering up to meet ones similar to her own. “Care to tell me what happened?”

She feels the tips of her cheeks and ears flush pink, embarrassed, really, by how dramatically she’d handled the whole thing.

“That bad, then?” Mal raises an eyebrow at her.

The blonde shifts under her gaze, scratching nervously at the back of her neck. “I may have… said something about turning people into toads. I don’t know, I’m fuzzy on the details.”

Her Aunt sighs deeply, the exasperation laced with definite fondness. “Emma, my sweetheart, you know you can’t do that. Don’t give them any more reason -”

“To hate us, I know I know,” she finishes. “You know that I don’t like to.”

“Then why did you do it? What good is threatening Henry’s teacher going to do, really? He’s the one that has to sit in her class all year.”

Emma’s cheeks darken. She’s right, of course. It was totally irresponsible - actually performing magic in front of her, however minor. It would have been far better for Henry’s sake to at the very least just trying to keep her guessing until summer when he was done with her class. Now though, now she’d just given the woman a reason to torture her son all year. All because she’d lost her temper.

“She just...irritated me,” Emma grits out, “I don’t know what it was but she tried to talk to me about how the kid was lonely - like that’s any of her goddamned business -”

“Language,” Mal scolds.

“I said goddamned, Aunt Mal, not fuck.”

“Language!”

“And then she started trying to talk to me about the rhymes as if I don’t know or I don’t care, like, the woman’s new in town she clearly doesn’t have a clue what life is like for us and yet she was trying to lecture me on it and on my kid, ya know?”

She looks up to see Mal just staring at her, shaking her head. “You always did have a terrible temper,” she tuts, and Emma just feels her face redden even deeper. It’s ridiculous how both her Aunts can make perfectly justifiable anger seem petty and immature with just a few choice words and looks. It’s wholly unfair, in fact.

“Mal, you weren’t there, okay? I know what’s best for Henry, I know what I’m doing. She has no right to stick her nose in. Her job is making sure he’s not stupid, I can do the rest.”

“Can you?” Mal demands bluntly.

Emma startles. “I...what? Of course I can!”

“Emma,” her Aunt shifts in her chair, moving slightly closer to her, “do you remember what school was like for you?”

“Terrible.”

“Exactly. And why was it terrible?”

“Because people are stupid and children are stupider and prejudice is easily passed from parent to child,” she replies, voice laced not only with anger but the residual pain of so many years of torment.

“Because no one _disciplined_ them,” Mal corrects. “Their parents gave them their prejudices, yes, but parents don’t go to school. If your teacher hadn’t been one of those very same children, just grown up, things might have gone very differently for you.”

The blonde frowns. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, my dear girl, that if this woman is from out of town then she doesn't have those same prejudices, and that perhaps she’ll be both motivated and _able_ to make life a little easier for our Henry than your teachers ever did for you.”

Emma’s mouth falls open and closed again. “She already knows we’re witches. She’s probably heard hundreds of stories about us.”

“That doesn’t mean she believes them,” Mal points out, infuriatingly calm.

The younger woman hesitates, feeling both awkward and ashamed.

“What is it, Emma?” her Aunt asks pointedly.

“It’s possible… that she may believe now.”

Mal lets out an overly dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in a gesture of infuriation. “You can never make anything easy for yourself, can you?” she asks.

Emma opens her mouth but she’s immediately cut off. “Never mind answering that it was rhetorical anyway. Needless to say it looks like we’re going to have to handle this situation. Lena!” she calls, without so much as another glance to the blonde sitting across from her. “Lena, get your hat! We’re going out!”

Emma lets her head fall to her hands, fingers twining into her hair. She should have just lied. She may not particularly like the woman, but no one deserves having the Aunts sicked on them. No one.

***

Regina’s confused by the ringing of her doorbell, she hardly knows anyone in town, besides which it’s past eight and that’s heading into impolite visiting hours.

She opens the door and blinks, not a hundred percent sure that she hasn’t fallen asleep and is dreaming. There are two women standing on her doorstep, eccentric looking with huge floppy hats and floaty dresses the kind of which you might find on, well, witches to be frank. At least the hats aren’t pointy.

“Can I help you?” she asks, and one of them - in a dark green dress, with long waving auburn hair - takes a small step forwards.

“I think the question, my dear, is can we help _you?”_

The brunette stares at them, hard. “Look if you’re trying to sell something, I’m afraid I’m not interested.” She moves to start closing the door, but suddenly she finds her hand frozen in place, suspended in mid air despite her best efforts to move it. Her eyes snap quickly back up to the women on her doorstep, widening almost comically.

“May we come in?” the redheaded one asks, a satisfied smile on her face. Neither of them wait for an answer as they brush past Regina - who finds that it’s not just her hand that won’t move. They head inside, pulling off their elaborate hats in a gesture of comfort Regina finds she is not at all comfortable with, and then the door in front of her slams shut and she feels control return to her. She stumbles forward, turning on them with blazing eyes.

“I don’t know who in the hell you think you are -”

“Oh yes, how terribly rude of us,” the other one, a blonde who looks to be a little older than the other one - mid fifties, perhaps, as opposed to the redhead’s forties - apologises with sincerity. “My name is Maleficent, this is my sister Zelena. We believe you’re familiar with our great nephew… and our niece,” she adds with a little distaste inflected on the word.

“You’re…” she trails off, slightly unsure.

“Maleficent Swan, is the full name, my dear. Happy to make your acquaintance.”

Regina’s eyes widen. Looking at the blonde woman, it should have been obvious. She looks like Emma, actually. The same blonde hair (though the redhead’s is more like Emma’s in style) and striking green eyes. The bone structure isn’t as refined though, as attractive as the woman might be Regina doubts that, even in her prime, she looked quite as much like a movie star as her niece does. The brunette curses herself inwardly for that. She really needs to stop referring to the woman in such terms. The tall blonde might be beautiful, but there is also the very real possibility that she’s a psychopath. And the even realer possibility that she’s genuinely a witch - and Regina can’t say that either of those is her type.

“You’re... Em-Miss Swan’s Aunts?”

“And Henry’s Great Aunts. Pleased to meet you, Miss…” the redhead, Zelena, says - trailing off meaningfully.

“Mills,” Regina supplies carefully. “My name’s Regina Mills.”

“Regina,” Zelena hums, flitting past her and into the sitting room, “that’s a beautiful name.”

The brunette follows after, feeling the blonde on her heels as she peers round the door to see the redhead already situated on a couch, looking comfortable. “I...thank you?” It comes out as more of a question. “Now may I ask what, exactly, you’re doing in my house?”

“Ah yes, now that’s rather complicated,” the third woman says from behind her. “It’s probably best you sit down.”

Regina’s mouth falls open, not quite sure how to deal with being asked to sit down in her own home, but there’s something about these crazy women that makes her feel like she should obey them - so she does. The brunette takes a seat primly on the couch opposite Zelena, watching as Maleficent comes to sit beside her sister.

“Now we understand,” the blonde woman starts, “that you had a meeting with our niece Emma this afternoon regarding little Henry, is that correct?”

Regina nods, “It is. Though if you’re here to reiterate what your niece said then -”

“Oh no, my dear,” Zelena interrupts quickly, “please don’t be mistaken as to our intent here. We love our niece very much, but she can be hotheaded at the best of times. Now we don’t know exactly what she said, or threatened to you this afternoon - but please rest assured that you’re quite safe. She’d never truly harm someone.”

The teacher’s a little taken aback. Honestly, she’d never actually believed Emma would harm her. She’d been somewhat intimidated, not to mention the crushing feeling of everything she’d known to be true crashing down around her when the woman displayed some form of supernatural _something_ right before her eyes. But harm her? That hadn’t been something she’d been afraid of.

“I believe I know that already, but thank you for the reassurance.”

Maleficent raises an eyebrow. “Oh you do, do you?”

“Is that surprising?” Regina deadpans, perplexed by the way this family seems perpetually surprised by people thinking well of the other members. Do they think that little of each other?

“Regina, my dear - may I call you Regina?” Maleficent continues, though doesn’t wait for an answer. “We, as you may have guessed, are witches. People tend to think the worst of us.”

Oh. _Oh_. It’s not that they think so little of each other - it’s that _other people_ do. It becomes abundantly clear to her why Emma was so hung up on her use of the word ‘misplaced’. She should have guessed, really, considering all the things she’d been told already by townsfolk. Selfishly though, she hadn’t thought about it from their point of view. All she’d heard was that these people were witches, it hadn’t occurred to her how that accusation (however true it might be proving) would weigh on the victims of it.

She should probably say something kind - she doubts they hear a lot of kind words outside of the family - but for whatever stupid reason, the words her mouth produces are, “So you really are witches then?”

Regina could hit herself for how that sounds, but then, at the same time, she’d quite like the answer.

“Oh my dear, of course we are!” Zelena exclaims and, as if for emphasis, Regina’s expensive glass floor lamp shatters into a million pieces.

She opens her mouth to protest, but the next minute the pieces are fitted back together - exactly as they were before - and she’s left blinking at the lighting device, wondering if she actually just saw what she thought she did.

“You could have done something a little less destructive, Lena,” Maleficent scolds her sister, whilst Regina just blinks at them in amazement.

“Where’s the fun in that? It was impressive - the girl didn’t know magic existed yesterday, we’ve got to give her a show!”

“You’ll give her a scratched cornea if you play tricks like that. Honestly, I thought we’d discussed the risks of playing with broken glass when Ruby cut her foot open.”

“Who’s Ruby?” Regina asks, eyes widening a second later. She doesn’t know where all this curiosity has come from but she needs to try and tamper it down, it’s despicably rude.

Maleficent just smiles at her though, apparently undeterred by the question. “Emma’s sister. She’s off travelling the world these days. Looking for love,” she says the last part with a sadness in her eyes that makes Regina want to ask a whole myriad more questions, though she bites down on her tongue before she can.

“She writes frequently,” Zelena adds, “and it always looks like she’s having a marvelous time, but I’m afraid Emma does miss her terribly. She’s got us, and Henry, but she does need someone her own age. She’s been very lonely since...well…”

“Since Henry’s father was killed?” Regina asks gently.

Zelena nods. “She misses her sister, she really needs a friend in this town. One who isn’t afraid of being turned into a toad. And Henry needs someone to have his back. I’m afraid Emma is inclined to encourage him to avoid everyone and not even try to make friends. They both could use someone to prove the world doesn’t all despise people like us.”

Regina looks up from where her eyes have fallen back to the perfectly un-broken lamp, still wrapping her head around what she’d seen, realising that there are two sets of eyes fixed pointedly on her. She looks from one to the other of the women questioningly, eyebrows raised.

“They need someone outside of this family to keep an eye on them. Someone who doesn’t come with the pre-installed prejudices of this town.”

Regina’s brows skyrocket. “Wait, you mean you want me to…”

“Be an ally,” Maleficent supplies. “Surely you’ve already seen first hand that we’re not monsters. Misunderstood, perhaps, but not evil. We need someone like you to help show the rest of this town that.”

The brunette shifts, a little uncomfortable at being seconded for some sort of long-game reconnaissance mission between witches and townsfolk. She’s hardly lived in the town a month. Hell, she only found out magic is real (if it is and she isn’t just dead or hallucinating or obscenely drunk) today. She hardly thinks she’s the best person for the job. On top of which she takes objection to being ordered around. Quite greatly, in fact.

“Look,” she starts, trying to remain polite though her patience is wearing a little thin. “I don’t know who you are, or who you think you are - but I certainly don’t owe you anything. I’m sorry if the townsfolk are less than forgiving of your...gifts...but quite frankly it’s not my problem. I am Henry’s teacher, yes, but as your niece so elegantly put it to me earlier today - I’m here to teach him, not be his best friend. Now I will do for Henry what I would do for any child under my care as a teacher, which is to educate and protect him when he is in my classroom - but beyond that I make no further promises.” With that she stands, eyes drifting pointedly to the door. “And now I should really wish you a good evening, I have a class to teach in the morning.”

The older women look slightly taken aback - perhaps even as far as affronted - but stand nevertheless, making their way out into the hallway and to the front door.

“I’m very sorry you feel that way,” Zelena says to her softly as the hinges swing seemingly of their own accord. “Please remember that our family is always here should you need anything. Our business is twenty four hours.”

Regina frowns, hand curling around the door as they step out onto the porch - eager to close it. “Business? What business?”

Maleficent turns to her, a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Magic, Regina. For any and all of your practical needs of the stuff.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 3

Regina doesn’t see Emma, or her Aunts, again. Even Henry is quieter in class, and she can’t help but wonder if the boy’s mother said something to him. She’s pretty sure that that idea shouldn’t hurt her quite so much.

The next several weeks pass fairly uneventfully, in fact. Kathryn Nolan, the Third Grade teacher, asks her out and she goes happily, relieved for a bit of fun. They have a nice evening - the restaurant is good, and Regina’s impressed with the other woman’s tastes. Kathryn is pretty - she’s no supermodel in skinny jeans, but she’s pretty. Sweet too, with a gentle disposition and a good heart. That’s the problem really - she’s far too sweet. Regina needs someone with a bit more kick in her gallop.

She manages to win her class over easily - it’s a mixture of natural charisma, and fear, in a balance she worked out back when she was newly qualified. Making sure her children both love and fear her in equal measure tends to get her the best results. Having the children’s loyalty doesn’t change the fact that Henry has distanced himself though. He doesn’t contribute in class, only sits quietly at the back, chewing on his pencil. Regina sees him during break, hiding away in the corner of the school yard with strange old-looking books, and pretends not to be watching him with a tiny ache in her chest. He looks so sad all the time. Big brown eyes wistful whenever she gets a rare chance to look in them.

She gets rare bits of conversation with him here and there. At the end of the day when everyone else has left, she’ll ask him about math, about all the new numbers he’s learnt at home from sums, and he’ll smile shyly and tell her all about it in the few moments before Emma waltzes in, door opening without a touching a thing. Most days, the beautiful blonde will simply call Henry away without so much as a glance in Regina’s direction. Other days there’ll be a rumbling of materials in the classroom, things shaking where they sit untouched, announcing the woman’s presence before the door even opens - and then she’ll call Henry away with a brief smirk in the brunette’s direction.

Some days, if she’s lucky, Henry will throw her back a little wave.

His spelling remains completely atrocious.

***

_“Witch’s boy! Witch’s boy! Evil little witch’s boy!”_

_“Mom’s a witch! Daddy’s dead! Drown them, watch them sink like lead!”_

_“Devil child, got to hell! Take your witchy mom as well!”_

Regina looks up from where she’s marking some really, really bad spellings. There’s a crowd gathered outside by the climbing frame, circling around something...or someone. She can hear some sort of chanting, but the words aren’t very clear. Unfortunately, it doesn't take much for her to make an educated guess.

The brunette stands and rushes outside, worry clenching in her stomach as she comes upon the unfolding scene. She pushes through children, varying in age, until she reaches the center of the circle. Henry’s there, curled in a ball on the ground whilst a kid who looks a good two years older kicks at him to the beat of the other children’s chants.

“What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Regina shouts, channeling her best evil bitch to scare them into immediate submission as she grabs the kicker by the shoulder and pulls him back from the little boy. His grey eyes widen as he realises he’s been caught, the chants dying in the throats of the children around him.

“Everyone back to class _now!”_ she snaps and the kids scramble, racing back into the building before she can exact any form of punishment. “Not you,” she snaps as the kicker tries to make a break for it. His step falters and he hangs his head petulantly. “Principal’s office.”

His head snaps up, grey eyes wide and disbelieving. “But he’s a witch’s child!” he protests.

“And your point is?” she raises an eyebrow dangerously.

“He...he deserves it!” he insists, waving a hand towards the younger child. “He’s devil spawn!”

“He is no such thing and if I hear you saying anything of the sort again, I can promise you you’ll be spending every evening from here to high school in detention. Do you understand?”

The young boy's eyes go wider, tears pricking at the corners as he nods wordlessly.

“Good. Principal’s office. _Now_.”

Regina turns to the form of the little boy on the ground as the grey eyed boy runs away back inside.

“Henry?” she asks, tentative, as she kneels down beside him. “Henry, sweetie, it’s okay.” She reaches a careful hand down to his back, coaxing him to sit up.

“Miss Mills?” he asks, turning tearful brown eyes to her, and she gasps at the sight of a cut on his cheek. This is ridiculous, the child is five years old. No five year old should go through this.

“I’m here, Henry, it’s okay.”

“Miss Mills, I hurt,” he sniffles.

“Alright, Henry, I’ll get you fixed up. It’ll be okay.” She reaches out a hand to help him up, but without warning the little boy launches himself at her, wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his face against her shoulder. She peers down in shock, catching sight of the nasty cut again, and feels a rage burning inside her at the sight of it on his pale flesh. She doesn’t care about the rest of the family - how crazy, or scary, or assholish the other Swans might be - what she cares about is this little boy on the cold concrete in front of her, fingers tight in her hair.

“It’ll be okay, Henry,” she assures him again, because she’s absolutely resolved to make sure it will be.

***

“What the hell are you doing here?” Emma asks, standing on the front porch with her arms crossed over her chest, looking every inch the intimidating witch that everyone thinks she is. “Shouldn’t you be teaching a class?”

“I got someone to cover for me - since _you_ weren’t answering your phone.”

The blonde’s brow furrows. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Something happened with Henry,” Regina starts, and the door behind Emma slams shut violently. “It’s okay,” Regina reassures her, watching with slight fascination as a nonexistent wind ruffles the other woman’s hair. “I’ve brought him home, he’s fine.”

“Where is he?” Emma asks, face stoic, though there’s worry spilling out of her green eyes.

“In my car,” Regina replies, “I’ll get him for you, I just wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me of what?” Emma snaps, moving down the steps towards her. “What’s wrong?”

“He was...attacked by the other children. He’s got some bruises, a couple of cuts. I’m sorry.”

The blonde’s eyes blaze, nostrils flaring slightly. Regina notices the roses along the path twisting upwards, twining together above her.

“Why didn’t you stop it?” she asks, voice dropped an octave. “Isn’t that your _job_?”

Regina eyes the plants surrounding her, watching as they continue to twine together into a darkening tunnel. “I stopped it as soon as I could, I promise.”

“It’s true, mommy, Miss Mills came to help me.”

Regina spins around, not unaware as to how the roses retract quickly to their original places.

“Henry!” she and Emma exclaim at once.

“I thought I told you to stay in the car,” Regina says, with false sternness.

From behind her, she hears Emma laugh. A genuine one. It’s the first time she’s ever heard it. “That was never really gonna happen, was it, little man?”

The boy grins sheepishly at them. “I don’t want you to be cross with Miss Mills, momma. Miss Mills is nice, I like her.”

Regina feels her heart warm at those words, smiling down at the little boy.

“Come here, kid,” Emma says, bending down and beckoning Henry over. He runs to her happily, and she scoops him up, situating him on her hip with much more ease than someone her size should be able to do with a five year old - even with her guns. Emma stares down at the teacher, face still fairly unreadable.

“Please don’t be mad at her, mom,” Henry says again, looking from one woman to the other. “Please.”

The blonde considers her for a long moment, scrutiny in her gaze. Regina shifts a little beneath it, trying not squirm. That green gaze is disturbingly intense.

“D’you have to get back to school now or...are you free?” the other woman says finally.

That takes her by surprise, but she recovers from it quickly. “The day’s pretty much over, my class is covered for the rest of it.”

Emma gives a tiny nod. “Well...do you… I mean, d’you drink coffee?”

Regina smiles, not sure how to take this strange turn of events. “I do. Occasionally.”

The blonde nods her head, the movement a little awkward. “Would you... like a cup? In return for bringing me my son home in one piece? I guess it’d be a lie to say any of the other teachers at that god forsaken place would have done that.”

Henry’s face lights up. “Mommy she could stay for dinner! Lena made cake!”

Emma’s face blanches. “I… well…” For the first time since they’ve met, the blonde actually looks unsure of herself.  “That depends on her I guess, baby.”

“Oh she’ll stay, won’t you, dear?” Regina’s gaze falls behind Emma, where Zelena has emerged onto the porch. Anger flashes very briefly in Emma’s eyes, but her expression settles quickly into an odd little curious frown as she examines Regina with a careful gaze.

For her part, Regina wants to say no. The idea of spending a prolonged amount of time with Emma and her Aunts is, frankly, terrifying. The Aunts because, as well intentioned as they may be, they’re bonkers. And Emma because she still has absolutely no idea what to make of her. Henry, however, is looking up at her with excited, expectant brown eyes - his mother with slightly reserved, curious green ones. Zelena is looking almost as if the possibility of a dinner guest is Christmas come early, and honestly she finds that she doesn’t quite know how to say no to any of them.

“Well,” she shrugs, “why not?”

***

Maleficent and Zelena, who have begun to insist she call them Mal and Lena, spend most of the meal watching her with the strange expressions of interested glee you might find on people at a zoo. The questions, as well, are somewhat relentless.

Emma stays unsurprisingly silent throughout the meal, sitting down the other end of the table with her eyes fixed on her plate, looking up every now and then with an unreadable expression on her face.

Regina’s not quite sure what to make of the fact that she’s served with three courses consisting of carrot cake, homemade fries, and strawberry ice cream - but no one seems to make any kind of remark about it. In fact the resigned, yet slightly frustrated way in which Emma accepts the proffered platefuls rather begs that it’s a usual occurrence. That too, Regina doesn’t quite know what to make of.

Henry’s conversation is the one part of dinner she truly enjoys - except perhaps dessert, she doesn’t think she’s had a sundae since childhood and it becomes evident to her whilst consuming it that this is a huge oversight on her part. The little boy talks in little spurts, staggered throughout the main conversation. He’ll pipe up with something about math or herbs and how they relate to different spells and potions - before his mother quickly silences him with _‘Henry’_ and a pointed look in his direction.

Once dinner’s over, Lena rises, raising a hand as if to do something, but Emma clears her throat loudly and the older woman rolls her eyes before leaning forward and starting to collect up plates. Henry scoots out of his chair and goes to her aid, following her out into what Regina assumes is the kitchen, where the sound of running water soon reaches her ears.

Mal looks from Regina to Emma and back again, eyes narrowed, then stands herself.

“Coffee, anyone?”

Regina wants to leave. The evening has been like one weird, slightly too intrusive interview. But Emma is still silent and brooding at the other end of the table, and there’s something hiding in those green eyes that the brunette can’t help but want to unlock. So ridiculously, and against her better judgement, the word that leaves her mouth is, “Yes.”

***

Coffee is equally as awkward, though Emma does seem to perk up a tiny bit. Regina wonders if maybe it’s the caffeine. The teacher sits and watches, enthralled, as the blonde’s fingers fiddle with her coffee cup, fingers trailing over the ceramic and leaving odd patterns of different color in their wake.

When Emma finally notices where Regina’s attention is, she shoves the mug onto a side table, tips of her cheeks darkening. Regina looks away, embarrassed at being caught.

“Mommy can do much more than that, can’t you, mommy?” Henry asks, and Regina flinches, one hundred percent positive that was the wrong thing for the little boy to say.

“I think it’s bed time, Henry,” Emma replies, confirming Regina’s suspicions. The little boy looks up with wide, dark eyes, expression one of upset.

“But mommy, it’s early, that’s not fair.”

“Henry, you’ve had a bad day and you’re hurt. Hurt little boys need early nights.”

His expression turns to a frown, but he puts down the small jar of herbs he was playing with nevertheless.

“Aunt Mal, Aunt Lena, could you come and help please?” Emma says and rises from her chair, scooping Henry up with ease and sweeping out of the door.

The Aunts shoot apologetic glances her way and then follow after their niece.

Regina takes that as her cue to leave.

***

The brunette just makes it to her car before the rose bushes start twisting ominously again.

“Come to murder me? Or is this just going to be another lecture?” she asks without turning around. Fascinating and beautiful as Emma might be, she’s about done with the woman trying to intimidate her.

“Neither. Probably,” the surprisingly familiar voice murmurs from behind her, and she turns. It’s dark outside, save for the small lights twined into the trellis along the path, and the light is illuminating Emma’s blonde hair like a halo around her, her face falling into shadow. In that moment she looks like the strangest mix of angel and devil, and Regina feels her throat tighten.

“Probably?” she manages to get out, raising an eyebrow.

Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Regina repeats. “You know maybe is not particularly reassuring.”

“Who said I was trying to be reassuring?” Emma asks, taking a step forward so Regina can at least see the expressions playing across her features now. “You’re in charge of my son, Miss Mills. You’re in charge of him where I can’t be and you brought him home beat up. You’re not my favorite person right now.”

Regina swallows, “I understand that. I expect I’d feel the same.”

“You don’t have children?” Emma asks, sounding ever-so-slightly surprised.

“No, why?” the brunette’s a little defensive on the topic. She loves children, but she’s terrified of what kind of mother she’d be… after the monster that was her own.

“Well, you just… you’re very good with Henry,” Emma admits, the words sounding like they hurt a little as they come out. “He seems to like you a lot.”

“The feeling’s mutual.” Regina can’t help smiling, that little boy has wormed his way into her heart disturbingly fast. “I said I didn’t have children at dinner though,” she adds as she remembers that uncomfortable line of questioning.

“I wasn’t listening at dinner.”

The brunette isn’t sure whether she’s relieved or offended. She thinks if the questions had been directed at the mysterious blonde, she would have been unable to tune out over her burning curiosity to know more about her life.

“I don’t approve of getting to know people through interrogation,” Emma shrugs. “We don’t have guests very often, not proper guests, and I think my aunts sometimes forget how you’re meant to talk people.”

Regina tries hard, but can’t quite contain the scoff that rises to her throat. “And barging your way into their classrooms and threatening them is the way to do it, yes?”

Emma flinches. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m not great at it either. But hey, at least I like to get to know someone through talking and not via interrogation.” Her lips turn up in a tiny imitation of a smile and Regina feels the need to pinch herself. Was that a joke? That sounded like a definite joke.

“Well, I’m always happy to talk,” Regina supplies gently. “If you ever find yourself wanting to.”

The blonde’s tiny smile widens for a moment, before the frown sets back into her features.

“I don’t want my little boy getting hurt.” Emma mumbles, and she looks shy again as she says it. “There’s a lot of people in this town who would hurt him. And all their children are at that school. I can’t protect him there - but you can.”

“And I try to,” Regina assures, “I promise, what happened today, if it’s within my power, I swear I won’t let it happen again. I don’t want him hurt either, Miss Swan.”

The blonde nods, teeth emerging to bite at her bottom lip in a display of insecurity that Regina finds distinctly adorable. She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to find the blonde intimidating again after seeing it.

“Emma,” the blonde says then, even quieter. “If you’re looking out for my son then...you’re okay in my book.” She manages another tiny smile, this one shy, tentative, and Regina feels undoubtedly that this little gesture should be taken as an honor. “You can call me Emma.”

Regina tries to ignore the way her heart swells with those words. “Thank you, Emma.”

She nods her head, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Thank _you_ , Miss Mills.” And with that she turns swiftly on her heel, striding back into the house before Regina can make a similar correction. The roses retreat with her.

 

 


	5. Chapter 4

“Lovely young woman there.”

Emma nearly jumps out of her skin, the door swinging shut again as she turns to see Mal hovering in the darkness of the front porch. “Jesus, Aunt Mal! You scared the crap outta me.”

“Language,” the woman scolds, and Emma just rolls her eyes, folding her arms across her chest and turning to her aunt.

“Why are you spying on me?”

“I’m not spying, darling, I’m observing,” Mal replies.

“Observing what?” the blonde snaps. She’s feeling strange. She hasn’t been even a little close to anyone other than her family since, well since Neal. Regina though, Regina worries her. She’s dangerously close to letting the woman become a friend - partly because she’s lonely, Ruby’s gone and everyone else her age in this town is afraid of her - and partly because she can’t help but find the woman fascinating.

It was clear from the first time they met that Regina knew, that the town had already got to her with their stories and their rumors and their lies, and yet she clearly hadn’t believed it. The woman hadn’t started to act scared until Emma had gone off on her. Even then, even though every time Emma had seen her she’d been showing off, intimidating her, the woman had still been looking out for Henry. It was confusing to the blonde at best.

What's more confusing to her, is why _she_ had been acting the way she had. She didn’t like to use magic, especially not in public, and yet every time she went to pick Henry up she felt the innate need to show off to the other woman. She'd told herself it was to scare her, to make sure the woman knew what she was capable of if her child got hurt - but rattling stationary and opening doors was hardly a threat. It would be a lie to say she hadn’t started to delight in the way that the teacher watched with a mix of fascination and trepidation on her face every time she strolled into the classroom.

Emma didn’t like to use magic because magic was what made them outcasts in the first place. Magic is what brings them all grief - but she’s never seen someone outside the family react to magic the way that Regina does. The way that the brunette always looks nervous and yet awed when Emma shakes the contents of her desk, how her dark eyes had drunk in the changing colors of the coffee mug with enchanted excitement, not a hint of horror. Regina hadn’t look at her like she was a freak when she'd performed magic, she'd looked at her like she was a god. Like she was something to be respected and revered. It's not something she's used to, and she finds that it has her strangely drawn to the woman.

“Observing you, dear.” Mal smiles. “It was about time you made a friend.”

The blonde bristles. “She’s not my friend. She’s hardly an acquaintance.”

Her aunt’s smile turns sly. “Perhaps you should change that then. I can’t see it doing any harm.”

Emma’s hands bury themselves deeper into their pockets. “Our family doesn’t have friends.” And for the first time in a long time, that statement makes her sad.

Mal just raises an eyebrow at her, turning to head back inside the house. “Perhaps you should change that too.”

***

“Miss Swan?” Regina can’t help the surprise in her voice as the blonde woman enters her classroom. She’s so used to her announcing her presence in dramatic ways that opening the door like a normal person feels almost like being snuck up on.

The blonde clears her throat awkwardly. “Emma,” she corrects.

“Emma, sorry,” Regina amends, marveling at the 180 Henry’s mother seems to have done on her. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I..” she hesitates, and items on Regina’s desk start to shift. “I was wondering… how much of the town have you seen?”

The brunette’s taken aback by the question. It’s non-threatening, regular chit-chat. It also feels like a prelude to something.

“Not a lot,” she replies carefully. “I’ve been pretty busy to be honest, teaching tends to take up a lot of time.”

Emma nods. “Right.”

Silence descends between them and Regina just looks at the other woman expectantly. The blonde has been silent for what must be a good two minutes before Regina finally pipes up again with, “Was there...anything else?”

Emma’s head snaps up at the words, as if startled. “Oh, right, yeah. Look I was just...I wanted to say that, if you wanted someone to show you around sometime, I…” She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “...Wouldn’t mind.”

Regina’s eyebrows skyrocket. “You?” She flinches internally at how that sounds. Of course she’d love for Emma to show her around. She couldn’t imagine a more beautiful or fascinating tour guide - but the idea that Emma would _want_ to show her around is somewhat boggling.

“And Henry,” Emma adds quickly. “I think he’d like to spend more time with you.”

Regina considers for a minute. Much as that is an invitation she’d like to accept, she’s still Henry’s teacher.

“I’m sure that would be lovely,” she starts, trying to convey her honest disappointment in her tone. “But I am Henry’s teacher, it wouldn’t be wholly appropriate.”

Emma’s face darkens. “Nothing about this goddamned town is appropriate,” she mumbles, then louder, “No, I get it. Don’t want to be seen being friendly with the witches, totally understandable.”

“Emma!” Regina rises from her chair, offended at the implications. “That’s not...I don’t…I don’t care if you’re a witch, or if Henry’s a witch. I mean,” she swallows thickly, eyeing the blonde up and down, “I’m not sure I even _believe_ that’s what you are, this is all...new.” The word sounds odd, carrying all of her insecurity and confusion at this outlandish situation she’s found herself in.

“New?” Emma asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, new,” Regina affirms, sure now that it’s the right word to demonstrate how she’s feeling about everything.

“And new is…” Emma trails off, looking disarmingly unsure of herself. Regina finds it makes her want to wrap her arms around the other woman.

“Different.” she says, voice gentle. “New is different, but not necessarily bad.”

“Okay.” Emma nods. “Different. Different is better than hellish,” she cracks a smile but Regina can’t return it. It’s obvious how deep the hurt goes in Emma. How insecure she really is about who she is and what she can do. It makes Regina wonder when the last time she reached out to anyone was, when the last time she had someone to confide in or even share a joke with was. It’s so clear to the brunette now how deeply, desperately lonely the woman standing in her classroom must be. She finds that there isn’t a cell in her body that doesn’t want to change that - even if Emma can turn her into a toad with a snap of her fingers.

“You’re right.” Emma looks up, frowning at the nonsequitur. “This town isn’t appropriate, so why should I be? I’d love a tour, Emma, thank you.”

The green eyes light up at the words, though it’s obvious the blonde is hiding her smile. Her awkwardness dissipates, usual confidence spilling back into her.

“Great,” she grins, and the objects on Regina’s desk start to shake with a vengeance, a few pens sliding off onto the floor as the door swings open. “Pick you up Saturday at ten.”

With that she sends Regina a quick wink and then strides out, the door slamming shut behind her. The brunette is left staring at the mess on her desk wondering if she hasn’t just been a little bit _totally_ played.

Damn, beautiful, blonde witches.

***

“Miss Mills!” Regina is greeted by a bundle of energy slamming into her as she opens her front door, looking down to see a little brunet head, the feel of arms wrapped around her legs.

“Henry!” Emma scolds from down the path. “What did I tell you about behavior? Miss Mills is still your teacher.”

“Sorry,” he blushes, relinquishing his grip and stepping backwards, eyes on his shoes.

“That’s okay, baby,” she reassures him with a hand on his shoulder as she draws level. “Just don’t do it again.”

“So,” Regina asks warily. “Where are we going?”

Emma gets a mischievous glint in her eye. “Everywhere.”

Regina gets a bad feeling in her stomach. Thankfully not the kind that implies she’s about to be enchanted, more the kind that says she’s about to have a dangerous amount of fun.

***

Emma and Henry do take her quite literally everywhere. Storybrooke is a relatively small town, and yet somehow there are hundreds of small hidden away places that mean it’s half dark before they’re pulling into the great house on the outskirts.

The market and main street she’d seen. The school as well, obviously, and the streets adjacent to all three as it was her way home. She’d no idea, however, of the beauty of the beach lying just beneath the rocks the town perched upon, nor of the magic of the forest surrounding them all. She’d been clueless as to the existence of a little wooden castle near the beach that Henry admitted was his favorite place save for his Aunts storeroom, nor had she had a chance to visit the docks where fishermen were constantly unloading the produce to be taken to the markets she passed everyday.

The town, in all honesty, is magical. It isn’t any wonder it’s home to an equally magical, beautiful witch. Though most of the tour had been conducted by a delightfully over-enthused and excited Henry, Emma had had the odd fact to interject here and there. Other than that, she’d just watched with a strange mixture of adoration and heartbreak on her face as Henry flitted around with Regina in tow. The brunette wasn’t quite sure of the meaning behind her expression, but filed it away as something she might perhaps be able to ask about at some point - if only to prevent the heartbreak from appearing again.

“I know it’s late,” Emma says apologetically as they park, “but I promised the Aunts we’d bring you back for dinner. They’ve taken a bit of a liking to you, god help you.” The last is a mumble, but Regina finds herself smiling at it. The Aunts scare her, but the idea that they like her is strangely reassuring, as if it secures her her right to spend time with the rest of their family. And after today she’s one hundred percent positive that’s something she’d like to do more of.

Henry had had her heart from the minute he held out his little hand and introduced himself to her. Emma though, she’s equal parts enthralled, enchanted, and terrified of her. She doesn’t quite know what it is about the woman, but she finds herself inexplicably and unavoidably drawn to her. It’s clear there’s a pain within her, and Regina finds she wants to heal it - and that’s not a feeling she’s ever had before, too distracted with her own hurts.

“You...don’t mind, do you?” Emma asks, and Regina realizes she hasn’t actually responded yet.

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t mind. I’d love to.”

“Great!” Henry exclaims, excitement all over his little face. “It’s brownies tonight!” With that he hops out of the car and scrambles down the garden path, yelling happily for his Aunts.  

Regina turns to Emma with a look of incredulity on her features. “You know if you do expect me to come for any more meals, you’re going to have to at least explain this to me.”

The blonde rolls her eyes, fond exasperation lighting up her features. “My Aunts are many things, Miss Mills. Nutritionists are not one of those things.”

The teacher turns in the passenger seat to catch Emma’s gaze. “Regina,” she corrects, voice low. “It’s Regina.”

Emma’s mouth pulls up at the corners in a tiny smile, and it’s genuine, grateful. Once again Regina finds herself wondering how truly lonely Emma must be that this small gesture seems so much to her. “Regina,” she says, as if testing out the name. “You know, Regina’s a very pretty name.”

The brunette’s breath hitches in her throat at the compliment. “Thank you,” she chokes out, trying to slow the racing of her heart. It’s an innocent enough comment, but she finds it sending shivers through her body, followed swiftly by waves of panic.

“Anyway,” Emma coughs, clearly a little uncomfortable. “Brownies.” she gestures with her head towards the house and then slips out of the car, shutting the door behind her.

Regina swallows down the panic in her throat and unbuckles her seatbelt, following Emma through the roses and up the path.

It’s just possible that she’s in real, real trouble.

***

Emma takes the moment between entering the house herself, and Regina entering a few seconds behind her, to run. She disappears quickly through the sitting room and hallway to the storeroom. Henry’s sure to take care of Regina as soon as she comes in, and she needs a minute to herself.

She needs a minute because she’s pretty sure she and Regina just had a moment. Not a friendly, thanks-for-showing-me-round-town-dude moment - but a _momenty_ moment. The kind that happens in movies before kisses get interrupted and _woah_ kisses...she’s going crazy.

Regina fascinates her - after all, she’s never met someone other than family who isn’t either repulsed by or terrified of her gifts. On top of which the woman’s voice, velvety and deep, has a strange, mesmerizing effect on her. She’s also disgustingly, unfairly attractive. But that’s just...Emma’s always noticed it, you couldn’t not...but in an objective way. It’s just been a meaningless observation that her son’s teacher is _smoking hot_.

The blonde groans, dropping her head to her hands. What is wrong with her? She doesn’t even...she’s not like that. She was married, to a _man_. She doesn't like women like that, _certainly_ not Regina Mills. She’s just tired, and happy to finally have a friend in this stupid town. She’s been lonely for a long time, this is just her brain overcompensating for it.

“Emma?” she hears her name being called and runs a hand through her hair, agitated. She needs to pull herself together, she can’t afford to scare Regina away - which means no more slip ups like the car. Honestly she doesn’t know what she was thinking, why that phrase even came out of her mouth. She needs to get a hold on it, though.

“Emma?” the call comes again and she shakes her head violently, trying to wake herself up. The delicate beginnings of friendship are blossoming between her and the brunette, she can feel it, and she’s shocked by how much, how desperately, she wants it. So she won’t have her stupid brain mess it up.

With a deep breath, she pushes off the wall and heads back out into the dining room, where the table is set with spoons and bowls of red gelatin. Regina’s across the room, examining her with dark, curious eyes, and Emma swallows. She just has to keep it together.

***

Emma could kill her Aunts. Dinner was hard enough since, now she’s consciously addressed to herself how beautiful Regina is, she finds she can’t _stop_ thinking about it. She spent the entire meal trying to avoid staring at her, and once it’s over and she thinks her torment has finally reached its end, her goddamned Aunts just have to go and bring out the tequila.

She’d returned from putting Henry to bed to find Mal and Lena flitting about in the kitchen in a disturbingly familiar fashion. It’s been a long time since they did Midnight Margaritas, a long time, and she’d be a lot more excited about it if it weren’t for the fact that she’s apparently going crazy at the moment.

Regina looks equal parts intrigued and terrified, which seems about right.

“Emma, darling, grab me the limes would you?” Lena asks, as Mal flies a bottle of triple sec past her ear, nearly hitting her with it. She feels Regina edge a little closer to her.

“Should I be scared?” the brunette asks, and Emma can’t help but grin, despite her worries.

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “Either way, you’re about to see something real special.”

***

Regina watches in awe as the three witches, and in this moment they really only can be described as such, set to work in front of her.

Limes start to fly around the kitchen, followed by streams of alcohol which by some, well, magic always seem to end in glasses. Regina dodges as a flurry of salt whizzes past her ear, watching in fascination as it then sticks itself to the edge of its target receptacle.

“Margarita?” a voice asks and she spins around to see Emma standing behind her with an impish expression, holding out a large salt-rimmed glass.

Regina can’t help the way her answering smile lights up her face.

Mal and Lena join them then, each with a Margarita in hand, one floating in the air between them.

“We brought you yours, Emma,” Lena smiles sweetly, and just as Emma reaches for it the proffered drink floats just out of her reach. A bubble of laughter falls from Regina’s throat. It’s almost childish, really, to be amused by such a thing - but the whole situation, magic, is still settling in on her.

Emma shoots her aunt an evil look, reaching for the glass again, but it dances away. Regina looks to Lena, who shoots her a wink, and then the glass flies upwards towards the ceiling.

“Looks like it’s floating away, darling,” Lena says in mock apology, “I suppose you’ll have to go get it.”

The brunette practically sees the green eyes glint as she accepts the challenge, and then, as if it were easy as breathing, Emma pushes off the ground until she’s floating above their heads. Regina watches on in sheer amazement as Emma reaches through the air for the glass, which dutifully avoids her once again, and then they descend into a strange game of cat and mouse, mid-air, with Emma floating after the offending beverage.

Finally, Lena relinquishes with a chuckle and both Emma and drink descend back to earth.

“Neat, huh?” Mal winks at Regina as the blonde takes a sip of her well-earned drink.

“I...yes,” Regina curses herself for her lack of eloquence, unable to tear her eyes away from Emma, who’s raised her own to stare at her over her glass. “Pretty neat.”

“Alright, ladies,” Lena announces, raising a hand in the air. “The competition,” she waves the hand for emphasis, and Regina gets another of those bad feelings that she had that morning, the one telling her she’s about to have far too much fun than is strictly safe, “starts now,” the hand comes down with a dramatic wave, and each of the three women raises their glass to their lips and starts to drink.

Emma raises her eyebrows at her, indicating the glass in the brunette’s still hand in an obvious indication that she should be joining in and, as she watches the other three women down their drinks, realization as to what’s about to go down dawns on her.

This is incredibly dangerous.

 

 


	6. Chapter 5

Emma watches with an odd kind of pride as Regina answers the challenge with only slight hesitation, raising her glass to her lips and downing it in admirable time.

Lena, as always, finishes first. “One nil to me,” she remarks sweetly, floating the jugs of drink towards them and heading for the table. “Now who needs a refill?”

The blonde shakes her head, but follows, taking a seat and holding out her glass for more, watching out of the corner of her eye as Regina follows over as well.

Lena pours again, and the game continues, each of the four of them downing and refilling until the jugs are empty. Mal, unsurprisingly, had passed out by the end of round three, so then it falls to Emma and Lena to replenish the contents of the jugs and refill everyone’s glasses.

Regina holds her own alarmingly well, outdrinking Lena - which was a feat Emma herself had only achieved before. By the time Lena’s passed out they’ve somehow made their way to the floor, Margaritas abandoned, passing the bottle of tequila back and forth between them.

“So you’re from...Eagletown?” Emma asks with a frown, slurring her words a little as they come out.

“Eagle Lake,” Regina corrects. “It’s way up north, practically in Canada.”

“You’re Canadian?” the blonde asks, eyes widening in mock horror. “I mean, I know I’m a witch and all but _Canadian_? That’s a real deal breaker.”

Regina chuckles, the sound rich and warm. In her inebriated state, Emma doesn't even hush the thought that she might quite like to wrap herself in the warmth of the sound. “I’m not Canadian.”

“Thank god for that,” Emma exclaims with a laugh. “So where are your non-Canadian parents from then?”

Regina’s face darkens, the laughter falling from her eyes. “My dad was from Virginia.”

“Was?” Emma asks, voice softening.

“My parents are dead,” the brunette replies, voice strangely emotionless, and Emma finds herself relating to that on an unexpected level.

“My dad’s family were originally from Puerto Rico though,” she continues and the blonde secretly delights in the fact she didn’t have to prompt her for that little tidbit, no one outside of her family has ever trusted her like this before. “And my mother came straight from the depths of hell,” she finishes, taking a large swig from the bottle.

Emma’s eyes widen genuinely this time, almost choking on her own mouthful. She coughs, trying to find the right thing to say. “So your mom was a piece of work, then?”

The brunette doesn’t meet her gaze. “Something like that.”

“Regina..” she starts, though with no idea what she wants to say, only that this subject clearly pains the other woman - and she wants nothing more than to put a smile back on her face. After all, Regina has done a pretty good job of putting a smile back on her face.

At the sound of her name, Regina looks up, and Emma suddenly realises just how close they are. She’s not sure how they got this close, but the brunette’s dark eyes are inches away from her own, and Emma can count each of her dark, thick lashes casting shadows across her cheekbones. She turns her head away, taking another long gulp of tequila - she needs to get a hold of herself.

Tearing her eyes away is difficult though, and it’s barely a moment before they’re back on Regina’s face. It’s really goddamn beautiful. _She_ is beautiful, not just her appearance but her soul. There’s an edge there, one Emma hasn’t quite explored yet, but at her core there’s something so inherently _good_ about her. It’s somehow unnerving and comforting at the same time.

Emma’s torn from her examination of Regina’s face, though, by the sound of the front door opening and a wonderfully familiar voice calling out through the loaded silence.

“Any mad old witches in residence? Don’t eat me, I come in peace!”

The blonde can’t help the wave of excitement that rushes through her as a tall slender brunette bounces into the room, scooping her up into a hug before she can even process it.

“Emmalem!” Ruby squeals, squeezing her so tight she can barely breathe as she spits out a mouthful of red streaked hair.

“Ruby?” Emma asks incredulously, squeezing tighter herself for a moment before pulling back to take a long look at the other woman.

Ruby, being Ruby, is already looking though - from Emma to Regina to the slumbering Aunts and back again. “I missed Midnight Margaritas?” she asks, mock hurt on her face.

“I…” Emma can’t quite speak. “You’re...you’re home?”

“Sure am! Sorry if I’m interrupting,” she adds, with another glance at Regina. “You gonna introduce me?”

Emma gapes at her for another long moment, brain trying to catch up to the fact that Ruby’s _home_.

“I...my name’s Regina Mills,” Regina says - remarkably coherent considering how much they’ve both had to drink. “I’m Henry’s teacher.”

“Wow,” Ruby exclaims, eyeing her up and down in a way that makes something stir in Emma almost possessively. “Teacher’s sure are a lot more fun these days.”

“Ruby, what are you doing home?” Emma asks again, ignoring their other train of conversation. It’s not that she isn’t happy to see her, she’s so happy it hasn’t quite hit her yet, too much like a dream come true. Home, in her opinion, is where Ruby belongs - with her, and Henry, and the Aunts - but that’s never been how Ruby thinks. She loves her adoptive sister, but the girl didn’t even come home when Neal died - so naturally Emma is a little confused.

“I…” Ruby falters, guilt clouding her features. “I know I’m a little late, Em, but I got home as soon as I could.”

Her eyes darken with guilt, raising her eyebrows in a look that’s part pleading and part apologetic.

“You... _oh_ ,” Emma falters, staring at her sister. “You’re...Ruby, it’s been almost two years.”

Ruby nods, looking ashamed of herself. “I know,” she whispers. “I know, Em, I’m so sorry. I should have been here I just...I was scared, ya know?”

The blonde wishes that she didn’t, she wishes that she could be mad at her little sister for not being there, because it’s not as if she couldn’t have done with her by her side. But she does know, she does get it. Everything about their lives is scary, scratch that, everything about their lives is goddamn terrifying - Emma can’t blame Ruby for wanting to stay in any kind of happy cocoon she may have created away from it.

She gives a long, heavy sigh and nods. “Yeah, yeah I know.” She pulls her sister back to her for another tight hug. “I’m pleased you’re home, sis.”

***

Ruby has the good grace (not to mention the sobriety) to drive Regina home, though Emma still tags along for the ride. Partly because she hasn’t seen her sister for almost five and a half years and doesn’t want to waste a second of her visit, but partly because she still knows her. Very well, in fact, and once the offer of a ride had been made, Emma’s mind had been unable to shut down visions of Ruby interrogating Regina endlessly - and there were certain questions she wasn’t sure she wanted asking. Certainly not directly to Regina herself.

Once they pull up outside, she’s relieved that Regina doesn’t do anything foolish like invite them in. Instead she thanks Ruby sincerely, politely - though with an expression of slight bemusement on her face - expresses her pleasure at making the girl’s acquaintance, and, after recovering from the shock of being squeezed into a tight hug by the girl, heads inside with little more than a hushed ‘Thank you for dinner’ and a shy smile in Emma’s direction.

Emma watches her through the window until the front door swings shut and the car is rumbling to life around her again. They drive in total silence for several minutes, until Ruby finally chirps up with, “So she was nice.”

Emma can’t help the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth. “She does seem to be.”

Ruby’s gaze flicks to her before returning to the road. “And here was I thinking that you didn’t do friends anymore - certainly not ones from this shithole of a town.”

“Ruby!” Emma protests.

“Oh c’mon, Em, it is a shithole. You should see Nepal, ugh, you would _love_ Nepal. The mountains just go up and up and on forever. It’s beautiful. Out there,” she says with a grin, “that’s the real magic.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Some of us have kids, Rubes. It’s kinda difficult to just up and climb a mountain ‘cos we feel like it. Besides,” she bristles, “there’s plenty of beauty round here, you know.”

Ruby’s grin turns shit-eating. “Wouldn’t happen to be talking about certain teachers, would you?”

Emma feels her face flush with heat. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps, “I was talking about the beach, and the forest. About the cliffs and Maria’s cove. This is our home, Rubes, that’s beautiful to me.” That’s not a lie either. She’d like to have adventures one day, if she ever feels secure enough in herself, would like to share in some of the mad adventures her sister has - but to her, nothing will ever quite rival the beauty of the sun setting behind the cliffs on the cove, or the spring rain crystallizing into dew drops on the roses in the garden. The people, she despises, but the place. The place will always be home.

The brunette sends another glance in her direction, shifting in the driver’s seat like a satisfied cat. “But you were also talking about certain teachers. Or a certain teacher, singular.”

“Ruby, I really don’t know what you’re on about.” But her cheeks feel like they’re on fire and the tips of her ears are aflame. She’s only grateful that in the darkness, and driving, Ruby can’t see this.

“Emma, get real,” Ruby laughs. “You can’t tell me you’re not totally crushing.”

This line of questioning is making her distinctly uncomfortable, the strange feeling swirling in her stomach that tells her her sister might be dead on only making it worse. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore. It must just be the alcohol, plus her seeming neverending feeling of loneliness. The blonde thanks her lucky stars as the lights of the old house come into view, Ruby steering the car into the drive and pulling to a stop near the rose trellis.

“You are!” Ruby crows at her silence. “You’ve gone and gotten a little crush on Henry’s teacher!”

“Ruby, stop! Okay? I don’t know what kind of nonsense all this traveling’s filled you up with but you’re being crazy. I’m not like that! So just stop, please.” And with that she throws her door open and jumps out, striding up the garden with surety, passing by the soft snoring of the Aunts from the kitchen and heading to her room. She collapses on her bed with a thud, one arm thrown over her eyes, and slams the door shut behind her with a click of her fingers, turning the key in the lock for good measure. It turns out she doesn’t want to spend any more time with Ruby tonight after all.

***

She’s awoken by a warm body in the bed next to hers. One distinctly larger than the familiar feel of her son’s.

“Brought you breakfast?” Ruby grins at her with hopeful apology in her eyes from under the blankets - just like they used to sleep when they were kids - and Emma finds it completely impossible to stay angry.

“What did you bring?” Still, no reason she can’t milk it a little - Ruby’s been gone a very long time.

“Cream cheese bagels, Lena’s chocolate fudge cake, fruit salad, and pancakes,” she screws up her nose, “because I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”

Emma really can’t stay mad after that - though there’s one more thing.

“And coffee,” Ruby finishes, as if she’d read her mind. “Lots of coffee.”

The blonde’s face breaks into a smile and she throws her arms around the girl. “Dammit, I missed you, sis.”

Ruby chuckles and throws the blankets back, beckoning over a large tray with a wave of her hand and settling it on the bed before them. A knife sails through the air and cuts off a large slice of gooey chocolate cake, guiding it over to a plate which then promptly deposits itself in Ruby’s lap.

“So,” she says, dipping a finger in chocolate frosting and lifting it to her lips. There’s a twinkle in her eye that Emma’s not sure she likes, but lets her continue anyway. “When do I get to meet Henry?”

“Oh,” she lets out a breath of relief, realising just how scared she was that her sister would insist on pursuing last night’s ridiculous topic. “Whenever you want. After breakfast maybe?”

Ruby grins, lifting another fingerful of frosting to her mouth. “Awesome!” she darts out her tongue and cleans off the digit, brow furrowing during the action before she looks back to Emma. “What if he doesn’t like me?”

Emma laughs then, a deep, real laugh. “Rubes, of course he’ll like you. He’ll love you, I promise.”

The girl’s brow stays creased. “He cried the first time I held him.”

“He was a newborn baby,” Emma shrugs, reaching for the pot of coffee and a mug, “they always cry.”

“But what if he hates me? What if he thinks I totally suck for never coming back to see him?”

The blonde shoots her a reassuring smile. “He won’t. He doesn’t mind, Rubes, honest. He knows you’re off having adventures - he thinks it’s cool.”

“He does?” Ruby’s face lights up, and Emma finds it moves her deeply that, despite her continued absence, Ruby does still care about them all.

“Mhmm,” Emma confirms around a mouthful of bagel. “I believe his exact words were ‘Super duper totally awesome’”

The brunette smiles contentedly into her cake, nodding. “Cool. Good. Alright then.”

They eat in comfortable silence for a minute or two, but Ruby finally cuts in again, tentative this time. “There haven’t been any...I mean you haven’t… have the Aunts managed to -”

“No,” Emma cuts her off, tone much sharper, knowing exactly what her sister is referring to. “No, we haven’t found anything.”

“Oh, Em,” Ruby sighs. “It’ll be okay, they’ll find something eventually. We will. I know I’ve been away but I’ll help you out too, if you want. It’s gotta be different right? He’s your son it’s not like...I mean, it’s not the same thing, is it? There have to be some who’ve survived.”

Emma says nothing, simply stares at her bagel, appetite suddenly gone.

“We won’t let it take him, Emma,” she insists, “not your Henry.”

Emma doesn’t quite know what to say to that, only that her heart feels simultaneously burdened and lightened by Ruby’s words. She doesn’t like to think about the curse, or the almost certain ramifications that taunt her with heartbreak every day - but just the knowledge that Ruby cares too, that she’s with them to fight it however she can - fight for her son - eases her. Even if she still knows deep down that it’s hopeless.

“Thanks, Ru,” she says, voice quiet and reserved.

She smiles. “You’re welcome.” Then she prods her with one of her few un-chocolatey fingers. “Now can I meet the little man? Or are you keeping him safely locked up from death watch beetles in a glass cage?”

Emma’s mouth falls open, a startled laugh leaving her lips. She feels she should be offended by that, but it’s really just Ruby being Ruby, highlighting the ridiculousness of the whole damned situation. Trying to pull a little light out of the dark cloud looming over them.  And honestly, if she _doesn’t_ laugh about it she’ll probably just cry, so instead she lets it happen, the feeling of laughter bubbling up and warming her chest, bringing mirthful tears to her eyes.

“You’re devil spawn,” Emma tells Ruby, wiping at her eyes. The brunette simply laughs back.

“That’s what they tell me. Now take me to meet devil spawn junior before I turn you into a frog.”

***

 

“That kid is super duper totally awesome,” Ruby grins as she flops down on the couch opposite where Emma is deep in conversation with Regina.

The other woman had come over for coffee, seeing as Ruby and Henry had decided to spend the morning together. At first, Emma hadn’t been sure it was a good idea to see Regina again so soon, especially without Henry there - but she’d been determined to prove that last night’s awkwardness had been a product of a long day and alcohol. Nothing more, nothing less.

Unfortunately for her sanity, it isn’t really working. Regina is fascinating, not to mention funny in a quiet, intellectual way that Emma finds she very much enjoys. Her mind is as beautiful as her face, her eyes as deep as her soul seems to be. Emma might be the witch, but there’s something totally magical about Regina that she can’t help but be awed by.

It’s not how coffee was meant to go, but she’s so thrilled, so elated that she’s been gifted with a friend like this, that she can’t even be mad about it.

“I’m going to steal him,” Ruby adds then, mischievous glint in her eye.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Regina quips, and Emma and Ruby laugh.

“Where is he?” Emma asks, conscious that Ruby came in alone. It’s not that she doesn’t trust her sister - more that the real reason Henry cried the first time Ruby held him was because she was wearing a spiked metal bracelet that dug into him. So yes, okay, maybe she doesn't always trust her. She couldn’t deny the two of them this time together though, Henry’s been waiting his entire life to get to meet his aunt properly.

“He’s in the storeroom grinding herbs for Aunt Mal,” she shrugs. “God knows I don’t envy him.”

Emma chuckles, “You never were one for the practical side of things.”

The girl smirks, “If I can’t do it with a wave of my hand, it ain’t worth my time.”

The blonde rolls her eyes but says nothing, turning instead back to Regina. “Anyway, what were you saying?”

Regina shakes her head, as if coming back from a daze. “I’m not sure I remember - but I should probably be heading off anyway. It’s school tomorrow, after all.”

“Oh,” Emma tries to hide the disappointment in her tone. “Fair enough. I’ll see you tomorrow though, I guess.”

Regina nods, smiling as she stands. “Perhaps this time you could leave my stationary in peace?”

Emma pretends to think on it for a minute. “Never.”

The brunette laughs. “I suspected as much. Anyway, bye Emma. Goodbye Ruby,” she adds as she heads out into the front hall. Emma stands to see her out, following her to the front door.

“Bye Regina!” Ruby calls, not bothering to move from her seat.

“Thank you for coffee,” she adds softly as she opens the door to leave. “It’s nice to feel I have a friend in this town.”

Emma can’t help the grin that blooms across her face. “You have no idea,” she replies, pouring as much sincerity as she can into the words.

Regina gives a small smile, reaching out a tentative hand to her arm. Emma tries not to let on that it’s like an electric shock to her nervous system. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Emma,” she murmurs, then her hand falls away and she’s walking down the garden path - but the blonde still can’t quite tear her eyes from her.

Finally, she heads back inside, flopping down onto the couch where she was sitting before.

“So. Coffee, huh?”

Emma levels a glare at Ruby. “Ruby, don’t even start. I’m serious.”

The girl throws her hands up in the air. “Alright alright. I’m just pleased you’ve got a friend here, Em.”

She gives her a weary smile. “Yeah. Yeah, me too.” The blonde takes in a long staggering breath, pushing a hand through her hair before turning to look her sister in the eye. “Speaking of friends - isn’t it about time you caught me up on what’s happening in your life?”

***

“He’s Irish?”

“Ahuh,” Ruby nods, grinning.

“But that’s not exotic?” Emma frowns. “I thought you said he was exotic.”

“Ireland is totally exotic. It’s like a whole different world there - and trust me, this is coming from a girl who hitchhiked ‘round the Philippines.”

“You did what?” Emma’s eyebrows skyrocket.

“Oh it’s totally safe!” Ruby assures her. “There was this whole big group of us and we stuck together all the time… anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Killian is the perfect example of an Irish stud, all rugged and wild. He’s amazing, Em, just amazing.”

“His name is _Killian?”_

Ruby’s mouth turns up into a little smug smile. “Apparently it’s a classic Irish name.”

“Doesn’t sound very Irish to me.”

“Emma! That’s not the point. The point is he’s amazing and I’m totally in love with him.”

The blonde bristles at those words, eyes narrowing at her sister. “Ruby, you shouldn’t say that lightly.”

“I’m not,” she says, though there’s something about her smile that’s a little too happy. “He’s amazing, Em. Fantastic, incredible!”

That’s one too many. Emma inspects her sister’s face. There’s a tightness around her mouth, something hiding in her eyes that she doesn’t recognize and hasn’t the faintest idea how to identify.

“Ruby…” she starts, tentative.

“What?” she replies, and it’s too quick.

There’s something wrong.

“Rubes -”

“Hey, I wonder if Henry’s done with those herbs. I want another game of hide and seek before I go,” she grins.

Emma blinks at her. “Wait - you’re _leaving_? Already? You only just arrived!” She’d like to pretend that her heart isn’t breaking, but that’s sort of difficult when having her back had made her realize just how much she’d missed her little sister.

Ruby at least has the good grace to look guilty. “Not for as long this time - I _promise_. But Killy’s in the States for a while and then he’s going back to Ireland for work so I might not see him.”

“So you’re leaving us to and spend time with your boyfriend?” Emma tries not to sound bitter, she really does. She tries with like eleven percent of her resolve.

Ruby’s face takes on a mask of apology, tinged with begging. “He’s going out to the Grand Canyon and he wants me to come with him - says he wants us to see it together. But he’s leaving in a month and I’ll be back then, I swear.”

Emma doesn’t know what to say.

“Oh Emmalem, please don’t be mad,” Ruby sticks out her lower lip, eyes widening to puppy-ish proportions. “Please? I’ll be back before you know it!”

The blonde narrows her eyes at her. “Are you happy, Ruby?” she asks bluntly, disconcerted by the odd look that had been on the girl’s face.

“Of course! Em, I’m doing what I always wanted to. What I dreamt of as a child. This is the life I always wanted to live. Of course I’m happy.”

Emma lets out a long, drawn out sigh. “Fine, fine. Go have fun adventures with your boyfriend - but if you don’t come back for me, or for the Aunts - at least come back for Henry, yeah? He already loves you.”

Ruby’s face splits into a grin. “I’ll come back for all of you!” she exclaims, hopping forward and pulling Emma into a hug. “I _want_ to come back for all of you, honest. I _missed_ you.”

Emma squeezes her tighter for just a moment, breathing her in before letting her go again. “Good,” she murmurs, “that’s alright then.”

Her sister gives her a smile in response, before stepping back and looking around. “Now then, where’s that nephew of mine?”

 

 


	7. Chapter 6

Ruby leaving feels somewhat like a punch in the gut. If that punch was delivered by a five hundred pound gorilla wearing knuckledusters.

“She’ll be back in no time, sweetheart,” Lena smiles at her as she sulks over breakfast the next morning. “Just you wait and see. No one can stay away from that little munchkin for long,” she adds, nodding her head towards where Henry is helping Mal wash out jam jars for spell ingredients.

“I hope you’re right,” Emma sighs, then pulls out her phone to check the time, cursing internally as she sees they’re running late. “Henry!” she calls over to him. “You’re gonna be late for school again.”

***

She hurries him along the hallway to the classroom, and when they finally reach the door she debates for a full second before deciding knocking is better - rather than just blasting it open as she usually would.

“Come in,” the now familiar voice calls from the other side, and Emma pushes Henry gently by his backpack.

“Go on, sweetie,” she urges, and he turns the handle and enters.

“Sorry I’m late, Miss Mills,” he says, and Emma watches as he disappears out of sight from the opening, presumably to his desk.

“Thank you for apologising, Henry, but please try not to do it again. It’s very disruptive to the rest of the class.”

Emma can hear in the tone that that statement is pointed at her, not the kid, and can’t help the smirk that tugs at her mouth.

“Bethan, look after the class for a moment,” Regina says then before slipping out to where Emma is now leaning up against the wall. She pulls the door shut behind her, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I mean it, you know. You have to stop bringing him late,” she tells her in hushed tones. There’s authority in it, enough that Emma knows she’s going to pay attention, not quite so much that it stops her smirk blossoming into a full smile.

“Hey,” she says, by way of response.

Regina lets out an exasperated sigh. “Hello, Emma.”

“Henry wants you over for dinner again,” she murmurs, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb any of the surrounding classes. “Will you come?”

Regina’s own mouth starts pulling into a smile, though she tries to hide it. “I believe I already told you - if you want me to come to dinner again, you’ll have to explain the logic behind it.”

Emma lets out a quiet chuckle. “It’s a very long story, probably better if the Aunts tell you. Over dinner.”

“Fine, fine,” Regina rolls her eyes. “I suppose I can drag myself over there.”

The blonde grins at her. “Friday okay?”

“Friday’s wonderful.”

“Awesome. I’ll see you later then,” she smiles, turning to leave. Regina turns back to the classroom, hand poised on the door handle to reopen it, but as she moves the door flies open of its own accord, and she’s left looking from her startled class, down the corridor to the retreating waves of blonde hair, and back again.

Henry grins at her from the back row.

***

Dinner swiftly becomes a regular thing. Not by any form of deliberate arrangement or organisation, but just because it seems the natural progression of things. Everyone in the Swan house enjoys having Regina over for dinner, and Regina enjoys everyone in the Swan house.

Most weeks, dinner happens on a Friday, more often than not dissolving into Margaritas once the kid’s in bed - though Emma’s careful not drink as much as she did the first time, just in case her mind starts fooling with her again. She notices that Regina doesn’t drink as much either, but assumes that’s because the woman’s a teacher, and is far too upstanding to get hammered every friday night, at a student’s house no less.

Occasionally, when Henry begs or the Aunts insist or Emma feels the table looks like it’s missing someone that morning at breakfast, dinner happens more often. She knows now - the two of them are close enough - that Regina rarely has evening plans. Wednesday night the assembled teaching staff of Storybrooke’s Elementary, Middle and High school tend go to the bar together for a drink or two, and in the interests of keeping up a good working relationship with her colleagues, Emma knows Regina always makes an effort to go. Not that she always enjoys it - a fact in which Emma can’t help but secretly delight in.

“They’re just such disgusting hypocrites!” Regina rants into the phone at her as she herself pads down the stairs, the sound of Henry’s soft breathing drifting to her from his bedroom. “Roger - you know Roger, teaches eighth grade?”

“Mr Freeman,” Emma nods. The man had given both she and Ruby particular hell when they’d been in his class.

“Yes, well, he just kept making snide comment after snide comment about this town’s ‘problem’, referring to you all of course, acting as if he’s all high and mighty when I know for a fact that he’s slipping his wife forgetting potions so he can cheat on her with Ursula.”

“Ursula?” Emma asks, flopping onto the couch and pulling a pillow onto her lap.

“Sixth grade teacher.” Regina replies, sounding distinctly agitated.

“Mr Freeman’s sleeping with Miss Le Mare?” Emma asks, eyes widening. “Ew!”

“Believe me, that’s not all that’s going on around here,” Regina sighs. “You know I didn’t realize when I took the job that I’d be coming to work in a soap opera.”

“I’d ask, but I really don’t think I want to know,” Emma grumbles. “That place already traumatized me enough.”

It’s a joke, but it’s a little bit too close to the truth for either of them to laugh at it, and they both fall silent for a minute.

“Wait,” Emma says, finally breaking the silence. “How do you know about the forgetting potions?”

“Lena was talking to me about it,” the other woman says, voice full of nonchalance, and Emma finds herself a little stunned.

“You...talk to her. Without me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Emma huffs out.

“Why - is that a problem?”

“No...no, it’s just. I dunno, I guess I didn’t think about it. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the Aunts love you!” she adds, before Regina can be made to feel unwanted - she’d never want that. “I just...I guess I didn’t realise that you, well that you…” she trails off.

“Emma?” Regina asks, and her voice is gentle.

“Yes?”

“Your family are my favorite people in this entire town. Of course I enjoy speaking with them. I enjoy speaking with all of you.”

“Oh,” Emma finds that she’s grinning. “Cool.”

Regina doesn’t say anything, but the silence is comfortable, companionable. It’s been a good couple of months now, since the woman first arrived - but the blonde finds that she still can’t quite believe that they’ve managed to shanghai the woman onto their side. She still half expects her to wake up and realise that they’re _witches_ and make a grab for her pitchfork. Every little reminder that this isn’t the case never fails to put a smile on her face.

“I’m sorry for calling you just to rant,” Regina apologizes, breaking the quiet.

Emma chuckles then, low and soft. “Don’t apologize. It’s kinda funny.”

“Well, I’m pleased I amuse you then,” she quips back.

“You do,” the blonde replies, but her tone has turned more serious. She can’t put into words how grateful she is to no longer be alone, to have a friend by her side who’s loyal enough that she sides with her rather than her own colleagues. It eases a weight within her she’d almost forgotten was there, as accustomed to it as she’d become.

They fall back into silence for a few moments longer, but Regina breaks it again. “I should head to bed, school tomorrow.”

“Course,” Emma nods, more to herself than anything, since the action can’t be seen. “You’re coming to dinner friday, right?”

There’s a pause on the other end and Emma’s heart leaps to her throat, panic that she knows is ridiculous coursing through her.

“Need you ask?” the other woman eventually responds, and Emma’s mouth pulls up again into a relieved smile.

“Good. Night, Regina.”

“Goodnight, Emma,” Regina’s velvety voice replies.

***

Regina has never been one to stoop to the vulgarities of slang phrasing, but if she had, then right now she’d have to admit to herself that she’s totally, thoroughly _screwed_.

She didn’t mean for dinner to become a regular thing or, in fact, for the Swan’s themselves to become a regular thing, but somehow they’ve nestled their way in and by the time she’d noticed it it was already too late. She’d wanted to be their friend, to be Emma’s friend, until she’d woken up and realized that she was feeling the beginnings of things, things that would make everything far too complicated.

So she’d decided to try and get some distance. To spend a little time apart, make some new friends in town. Except two days later Henry had come pottering over to her desk after school was finished with a shy smile on his face and asked if she was going to come to dinner again. And how in heaven and hell could she say no?

After that, every time she decided the point had come at which she should withdraw herself from the company of the Swans, one or other of them would ask if she wanted to do something - dinner, margaritas, even just tutoring Henry - and she’d look into the eyes of whichever Swan was asking and be helpless to say no. Whether small honest brown, piercing blue, or striking bright green, Regina had been finding she was powerless to resist any of their requests. Lena had even attempted to get her in on some seasonal witch ceremony, and it had only been Emma’s violently shaking head behind her Aunt that had persuaded her to say no.

It shouldn’t be a problem, any of this. After all, who wouldn’t want to be semi-adopted into a family of excitable, warm-hearted witches? It shouldn’t be a problem, but it just so happens that one of those witches is beautiful, and funny, and quite literally magical - and Regina’s almost certain she’s doomed to end up head over heels for her. If that weren’t problem enough, she’s already head over heels for the woman’s son. Henry has her heart so completely that, when she stops to think about it, it scares her a little. She’s so attached to the boy there’s not a doubt in her mind she’d do anything for him. Lay down her life for example, or pretend that she’s not falling for his mother so she can stay a part of _his_ life.

As it is, as screwed as she is, Regina can’t quite find it in herself to care. She’s happy, being an odd extension to this bizarre little family. And no matter how certain she is that it’s all eventually going to end in heartbreak (hers), when all is said and done she knows it’s worth it for the joy they all bring her in the present. They’re all worth whatever pain they bring her.

***

“Buh-o-wuh-el, bowl,” Henry finishes his spelling list with a grin and the table bursts into applause.

“Well done, darling,” Mal coos at him, “you’re getting so much better.”

“No no no, that’s not the best bit yet,” he insists with an adorable, determined scowl, “you have to wait.”

Lena looks to Regina across the table. “There’s more?”

Regina smiles knowingly, turning to Henry. “Why don’t you show them?”

He wiggles in his chair, straightening up so he’s sitting taller, looking like he’s about to do something he’s awfully proud of. Regina feels warmth swell in her chest at the sight.

“Kind,” he starts, “kay-eye-en-dee.”

Emma’s eyes widen. “Henry? Did you just use grown up letters?”

His face splits into a toothy grin and he nods. Her green eyes turn to Regina, face full of wonder and pride. “You taught him grown up letters?”

“He was very eager to learn them once he finally got the hang of the simpler ones,” she smiles, feeling almost shy from the way Emma’s looking at her.

“But...but he could barely spell three letter words before.”

“I know!” Henry cries. “It’s great! I’m as good as the rest of the class now, momma, better. Now I’m good at spells and ings!”

The blonde scoots out of her chair to go and sweep him up into a bear hug, ruffling his hair. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” she grins.

“Miss Mills teaches good,” he replies, and the adults all laugh gently.

“Maybe not that good,” Emma tells him, shooting a look in Regina’s direction, and the brunette finds she can only roll her eyes in response.

“I like Miss Mills,” Henry says, little voice assured, and Emma’s eyes remain locked with Regina’s.

“Me too, Henry,” she murmurs. “Me too.”

***

“Time to celebrate!” Mal crows and Regina is happy to find that her immediate reaction to the sight of the Margarita jugs is no longer one of pure terror.

“Midnight Margaritas?” Emma exclaims excitedly as she reappears in the doorway. “Good decision!”

“Would it ever be anything otherwise, dear?” Lena winks, and Emma just rolls her eyes, expression one of such fondness that Regina finds herself staring. There’s so much love in this woman, how the rest of the town can’t see it she just doesn’t know.

She stands back and takes her now usual place in the corner, watching the magic show of preparation with the same wonder she always does. No matter how many times she watches this strange dance, it will never not be mesmerizing.

“Regina, darling?” Lena asks, startling her. This isn’t part of the dance.

“Yes?” she asks, brow raising.

“Could you get the salt?”

The brunette stares at her for what feels like a solid minute. This is their routine, she’s never been a part of it. The three women have it down to an art. She can’t possibly imagine any need for her to be involved.

Lena seems to see the confusion flickering in her eyes, because a sly smile lifts the corners of her lips. “It’s about time you contributed, don’t you think? We’re not your slaves, you know?” She winks.

A little gasp escapes her mouth, the weight of what Lena’s saying not lost on her. She’s really not just a guest anymore, she’s being included. She’s being invited into the dance. Regina’s mouth pulls into a shy smile in response, heart twisting with warmth.

“Of course I’ll get it,” she replies, “I’d be happy to.”

Lena puts a gentle hand on her arm. “Thank you, dear.” Then she turns back to the kitchen and redirects a stream of tequila over her head and into a jug.

***

“Emma, I picked up your purse last night by mistake and I just…” Regina trails off as she realizes Emma’s not behind the counter. The shop’s empty. Her brow furrows as she looks around, she can hear talking coming from somewhere - and the door to the storeroom is open. Frown deepening, Regina walks to the open door, taking a tiny step inside and peering around.

Her heart lifts to her throat.

Emma’s standing with her back pressed up against a stack of shelving, expression thunderous. There’s a man standing very close to her, and though Regina can’t quite see his face, his body language is intimidating.

“You’re scum,” he spits at Emma and she stares back at him with murder in her expression. “A freak. You don’t belong here, none of you. You don’t belong anywhere. We’re going to burn you, all of you. Take you to the square like one of your ancestors and throw you on the fire. Your witchy little son too.”

At that Emma’s nostrils flare, danger sparking in her fierce green eyes. “Take it back,” she growls.

The man laughs, “Take what back?”

“About my son. Take it back.”

He moves closer, getting right up into her face. “Your son is devil spawn. He’s going to hell with the rest of you.”

Regina can almost see the wave of magic as it rolls off the other woman. A ripple of energy that bursts from her like an explosion. It hits into the man with a thud, and he stumbles backwards, arms windmilling to keep himself from falling. There’s little point to the motion though, as he ends up on the floor anyway - not from the fall, but because he has shrunk considerably. He ribbits.

Regina’s eyes widen as Emma bends forward and scoops him up. She raises the hand to her face, looking at it sternly. “You threaten my family again and your wife finds out about the beauty potions - no one likes to kiss a man who drinks chicken’s blood at breakfast.”

The frog ribbits again, loudly.

“Glad we’re clear.” She smiles, though it’s a little more threatening than gleeful. “Now hop along home, Mr Dawson.”

She lowers her hand back to the floor and the frog practically flies from it, Regina has to scoot back out of the way of the door as he hops past her, desperation in the energy of it. She watches as the glass shop door opens for him and he carries on a pace down Main Street.

There’s an amused chuckle from behind her and she turns just in time to watch as Emma catches sight of her, all the amusement falling from her face in an instant. Her eyes widen, expression one of utter terror as she looks at the woman.

“Regina?” she asks, though Regina can only blink at her.

“Oh my god,” the blonde whispers, and the terror on her face starts to give way to panic. “Oh my god.”

“Emma?” Regina finally manages to ask, and the other woman crumples in on herself a bit.

“No,” she murmurs, stepping past Regina and into the shop. “No no no no, you weren't meant to see that, you shouldn’t have… why are you here?” she asks, voice distraught.

“I have your purse,” she replies, feeling a little dumbstruck. “I was just… I was just returning it.”

Emma brings her hands up to her face, scrubbing at it. Then she turns back to Regina. “Please don’t… Regina, I can… please,” she begs, though for what Regina isn’t sure.

Regina swallows, trying to wrap her head around what she’s just seen. It’s not like she hasn’t been watching Emma and the Aunts perform magic for months now, not like she hasn’t gotten quite used to it. But most of that is just practical magic - making margaritas, opening doors, clearing the table. It dawns on her that she’s never actually seen any of them do proper magic. Everything they do in front of her is more like telekinesis but this, this is real magic. What Emma just did was a spell, a proper spell, something that changed something.

“Please, Regina, please, I’m sorry.”

“He… he’ll be alright, won’t he?” she asks, tentative.

Emma nods furiously. “He’ll be totally back to normal in fifteen minutes - twenty tops.”

The brunette nods to herself. That’s all she needed to know. Watching Emma do something like that to another person was a shock, certainly - but it’s not like he didn’t deserve it. And the damage, if you can really call it that, isn’t permanent. Which means there are far more pressing concerns. “And what about you? Are _you_ alright?”

The blonde looks startled by that question. “M-me?”

“He looked like he meant business,” Regina explains, eyeing her up and down, just in case he managed to inflict some injury before she’d arrived. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

Emma cocks her head to the side, brow creasing. “You’re worried about me?”

Regina’s own forehead furrows at that. “Of course I am. That man was _horrid_.”

“But I turned him into a frog,” Emma blinks at her. “Don’t you hate me now?”

She can’t help the startled laugh that falls from her mouth. It’s not even meant for Emma, more for herself. Because that idea is so thoroughly ridiculous - and the fact that it can be after just having watched her turn someone into a frog is perhaps even more ridiculous. She’s not sure there is a bone in her body that is capable of hating Emma, she has her heart far too securely for that.

Emma’s face takes on an expression not dissimilar to that of a confused puppy.

“Emma,” Regina takes a small step towards her, reaching a hand out to place on her arm. Startled green eyes look down to the hand and then up to her face. “I could never hate you.”

“But I...he…you saw me turn him into a frog!” she protests.

Regina shrugs, “Not the most usual method of dealing with bastards, I’ll admit, but it’s clearly effective.”

Emma stares at her, the vulnerability on her face startling.

“You’re not scared of me,” she whispers, incredulous. Regina’s not sure whether it’s a question or not, but she shakes her head anyway.

“I hate the way people in this town treat you,” she sighs. “But I suppose at least you can defend yourself.”

Emma continues to stare at her for another long moment, and then the blonde is surging forwards and there are arms wrapped around her neck, blonde hair in her face.

The hug catches her off-guard, but once her brain catches up she laces her own arms around Emma’s waist. The other woman is holding her tightly, and she can’t help but think it’s amazing how well they fit together.

“Thank you,” Emma mumbles into her hair, and Regina squeezes her tighter, breathing her in. Emma’s hair smells like lavender and cinnamon, like spell ingredients. Her hands, clasped to her arms behind Regina’s neck, are sparking ever so slightly, the magic sending tiny tingles down her spine.

Regina closes her eyes, exhaling slowly as the full extent of the truth dawns on her for the first time.

She’s hopelessly, helplessly, in love with a witch.

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 7

After the incident with Mr Dawson, Regina begins to realize how much Emma has been holding back from her. It’s like a light switches on inside the other woman, and suddenly she’s animated in a way Regina hasn’t ever seen. It only takes a day or two for her to work out what it is that’s different. It’s magic. Emma’s buzzing with the stuff. It ripples off of her in waves, sparkling in her eyes and crackling between her long fingers.

She starts to use her power freely, more open with what she’s capable of. Things Regina’s watched her do a hundred times by hand start to be done with a wave of one, whilst she just watches on in fascination. There was a time when Regina might have found it frightening, instead she’s like a moth drawn to a flame. It pulls her in even deeper, mesmerizing her.

“Does it scare you?” she asks one Saturday morning as November nears its close. She’s sitting on the porch watching as Emma also sits, one hand around her coffee, the other held out with the palm up as a rose blooms and wilts on it over and over again without so much as a glance from the blonde.

Emma looks up, eyes miles away. “What?”

“Does it scare you?” she repeats. “Having all that power over whether something lives or dies?”

Her eyes flicker to the flower on her palm, clouding over in something that looks suspiciously like pain. “It would if it meant anything, but I can’t affect anything that matters. It’s nothing to be proud of.”

Regina just stares at her. “Emma,” she breathes, “the _flowers_ matter, they’re beautiful and you have the power to destroy that - or to create it. Was that rose alive when you picked it up?”

 A crease appears between Emma’s eyebrows, eyes dipping to the rose and back to Regina. She gives a tiny shake of her head.

The brunette smiles, reaching out a tentative hand for the rose - alive and blooming and sunny pale yellow. “You can create beauty, Emma, out of nothing, out of death and decay. That’s something to be proud of.”

Emma flushes, and as she does the yellow petals of the rose turn to a deep, rich pink in Regina’s hand. The blonde’s eyes widen as she sees what she’s done, and she frowns at the blossom, as if trying to do something with it. The rose, however, stays unchanging.

“Here,” Regina offers it back to her, but Emma shakes her head.

“No,” she whispers, “keep it.”

The brunette tries to quiet the flutter of her heart, but it’s difficult considering the woman she’s pretending she’s not in love with just gave her a rose.

Emma turns away, eyes drifting out to the garden. “What good are roses though?” she mumbles. “I can’t do anything important.”

“Who’s to say what’s important?” Regina presses. She hates that Emma doesn’t see the beauty that lies within her.

“I can’t save anyone,” she chokes out, the glistening shape of a tear tracking its way down her cheek. Regina resists the urge to just lean over and kiss it away. “I couldn’t save my father. I couldn’t save my mother. I couldn’t save Neal. I can’t… I won’t be able to...” She swipes a hand across her face. “I can’t save people.”

Regina watches her, heart twisting. She wants nothing more than to wipe the pain from the other woman’s eyes, wants to tell her the truth. Or part of it at least. Emma already has enough power over her to destroy her, there’s no point hiding away the old wounds. It’s not like they’ll make much difference when Emma breaks her heart, anyway.

“You saved me,” she breathes, and Emma’s head turns sharply to meet her gaze. She wipes the last remaining tear from her cheek in an angry swipe.

“What?”

“Do you remember what I told you about my parents?” she starts, resisting the usual urge in her gut to shut her mouth and flee from this topic.

“Both dead, mom was a bitch,” Emma nods.

She smiles, though it’s more of a grimace. “There isn’t a word in the english language to describe my mother,” Regina admits, “but needless to say bitch doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Emma shifts infinitesimally closer, interest apparently piqued.

“My childhood wasn’t quite like yours, but it was pretty hellish. I thought once I was eighteen and I went to college I’d escape, but my mother was as persistent as she was cruel, and I never really managed to get away from her.” She takes a breath, closing her eyes for a second before continuing. “I was resigned to the fact I’d never be able to escape my parents, but then last year a drunk driver took care of all my worries. I grieved for my father - but then he’d never stopped anything my mother did - so I couldn’t bring myself to mourn too hard. I was finally free. So then I started looking for positions, somewhere away from home, and that’s why I ended up -”

“Here,” Emma finishes for her, eyes fixed on her face, drinking in what she’s saying.

Regina nods. “I never had a family, not a proper loving one. But you, Henry, the Aunts - you’re the best kind of family I could ever have wished for.”

The blonde’s staring at her in a way that makes her heart flutter even more, as if in that moment Emma’s entire world is revolving around her, hanging on her every word.

“I never realized how lonely my life had been,” she whispers. “The lot of you saved me, Emma. Magic and all.”

There’s a long moment where Emma just continues to stare at her, as if she can’t quite believe what Regina’s saying.

The brunette lifts the rose again, holding it between them where they can both examine it. “You have a gift, Emma. I would give anything to be as talented as you.”

It’s the truth, she can’t imagine anything more exhilarating than the feel of magic flowing through her veins.

Emma blinks at her. “Do you want it?” she asks.

Regina frowns, confused.

“Magic,” Emma clarifies, something burning deep in her eyes. “Would you really want it?”

Her eyes widen, brows raising. “I…” She’s not sure whether Emma’s serious or not. “Well, that’s not exactly possible. I’m not a witch.”

“You could be,” Emma breathes. “If you wanted to be.”

“What?”

“Magic can be taught,” she explains. “I was born with it but Rubes, Rubes is adopted - the Aunts had to teach her.”

Regina feels her heart racing, pounding in her ears. “You would teach me?” she whispers, unable to believe this is a real possibility Emma’s presenting her with.

“Everything,” the blonde affirms, “if you really wanted to learn. Would you?” she asks, and there’s a strange kind of hope hiding in her green eyes.

Regina hesitates for a second, thoughts of witch hunts and taunts and being endlessly ridiculed flickering through her brain. Then she thinks of the Aunts, and Henry, the idea of controlling things as seamlessly as Emma does. Most of all, she thinks of the way the blonde hides the extent of her gifts, the way she shies away from them - even now she’s expressing them more, of the ever present fear in her eyes that Regina might still freak and turn on her. She thinks of how maybe this way she could finally show Emma that her gifts are just that, that they’re as beautiful as her face, and her mind, and her soul.

“Yes,” she breathes, and Emma’s entire face lights up in wonder. “Yes, I would.”

***

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Emma says for perhaps the millionth time, fingers playing absently with the edge of the blanket where it touches the grass beneath it. She’s nervous, more than she’s even letting on.

Regina tilts her head to one side, levelling a look in her direction. “I know.”

The blonde nods, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to.” If this goes wrong, if something happens to Regina because of it. If Regina ends up resenting her for doing this. A shiver runs down her spine, she doesn’t want to think about any of those possibilities.

She can’t quite wrap her head around the idea that Regina can really want this, half wonders if she put an accidental spell on the woman. The image of that rose burns fresh in her mind. She hasn’t done unintentional magic since she was a child, at least not the irreversible kind. Normally all her magic has an element of control to it, even the jerk responses to things. She feels the magic as it happens, knows she could reign it in if she needed to. Accidental magic to her is less of an unconscious decision to do something than a conscious decision not to stop doing it.

She’d barely even noticed the rose happening though. She felt it, but it came from somewhere deep inside her that only just touched her consciousness, somewhere from which she isn’t sure she _could_ have stopped it. Certainly she couldn’t undo it.

Regina’s brown eyes bore into hers. “I don’t feel like I have to,” she states. “I’ve wished I could do what you do since the first time I met you, Emma. I’m sure.”

The blonde nods to herself, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” She picks up the box of matches where they’re sitting by her knee, taking one out and striking it. She lights each of the four candles sitting in a tight formation in front of her with practised ease, taking a pinch from the bowl of herbs on her right and sprinkling them into the flames.

“We’re going to start with a simple summoning, think you can handle that?”

The brunette’s eyes widen. “When you say summoning, you mean…”

Emma can’t help but grin at her mischievously. Messing with Regina is, after all, what she does best.

“ _Venite mihi_ ,” she chants under her breath, throwing a sprig of lavender into the flames, “ _pervolitate in pennis placidis_.”

“Emma, what are we summoning exactly?” There’s undeniable nerves in Regina’s eyes as she asks, glancing around her with suspicion.

“Shh,” she quiets her, letting her eyes fall shut. “You’ll see.”

“ _Venite mihi_ ,” she starts again.

“ _Emma_ ,” Regina’s voice is full of warning, and her mouth pulls back into a smirk, though she doesn’t open her eyes.

“ _Pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,” she murmurs, and she begins to feel the flutterings at the back of her consciousness. It’s a pleasant feeling, it’s been a long time since she’s done this.

She can feel the brunette’s nervous tension though, and she knows she’s being mean not explaining - but it will be worth it in a second.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

There’s the sound of rustling in the quiet trees around them and she hears Regina shifting opposite her.

“Emma?”

The rustling grows louder and she cracks her eyes open just in time to see the brunette’s expression turn from one of concern, to one of sheer wonder as a thousand tiny white butterflies burst forth from the trees, converging around them and fluttering in a dome of little wings.

A startled laugh of amazement falls from Regina’s mouth, head tilting up as her eyes drink in the sight. Emma stares at the look of sheer delight on her face with warmth dancing inside her. She can’t help but think that she put that look there, she made the smile that’s splitting the other woman’s face in two as the little white insects fly closer, perching on her fingertips and up her arms.

Regina’s eyes turn back to her, and she has that look again that makes Emma feel like she’s being seen almost as a god. She knows she shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but can’t quite help it. Still, she’s not a god, and the point of this is for Regina to be able to do the same.

“Your turn,” she smiles, and the other woman gulps.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can,” Emma blows on one of the candles, relighting the flame, then throws more herbs at them, handing a sprig of lavender to Regina.

“All you have to do is think of what you’re summoning, picture it in your mind’s eye, then put the lavender in the fire and speak the words.”

The brunette takes the flower with shaking hands, swallowing nervously again. “What are the words?”

“ _Venite mihi_ , come to me,” she translates, “ _pervolitate in pennis placidis_ \- fly on peaceful wings.”

“You want me to summon the same thing, yes?” she asks.

Emma nods. “Yep, just hold the image of them in your mind when you speak the words and they’ll be drawn to you. Don’t let your attention slip.”

The other woman works her jaw for a minute, then takes a deep breath and throws the lavender into the flames. Her eyes fall closed and Emma’s eyes glue themselves to her face. She watches her eyes screw tighter in concentration, head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,” Regina says, the words are a little shaky, carrying the nerves she’s clearly feeling. Her pronunciation though, Emma notices, is flawless. “ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

Emma shifts where she’s sitting, and she sees the movement register with Regina, her eyes flickering open again for a second then closing.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

There’s another rustling in the trees, and congratulations are on the tip of Emma’s tongue, but then a swarm of bees breaks through the undergrowth, buzzing with vengeance at being called from their afternoon slumber.

The insects surround them, creating a wall of buzzing energy, and Emma waves her hand angrily, throwing a gust of wind at them. “Abite!” she shouts, and the bees scatter and depart.

She turns back to Regina. “You alright?” she asks, concerned. Maybe she shouldn’t have pushed her so hard to start with.

Instead of the disappointment she’d thought she might find there though, the horror she’d feared, there’s a mix of awe, and steely determination in Regina’s eyes.

“You distracted me,” she accuses, though there’s little malice in it. “I want to try again.”

Emma stares at her for a moment before her face breaks into a grin. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

Regina nods, gaze catching hers and holding it. “I could feel them, touch them. It was like nothing…” she trails off, mouth curving into a smile. “I want to try again.”

The blonde has to quiet the fluttering of her heart in her chest. She doesn’t know what ripple of fate sent Regina her way, but she’s sure she’ll spend the rest of her life trying to pay for the gift of knowing her.

She has to remind herself almost daily that it’s normal to be infatuated with a friend. That you can be, in a totally platonic measure of respect and loyalty. Any kind of thoughts of physical attraction are just confusion on her part.

“Okay,” is all she says. Instead of waxing poetic about every little trait and quirk the woman possesses that means she holds the blonde’s heart. Holds it in a way no one quite has before. Because that would just be ridiculous. “You have to concentrate a little harder. The spell was right, you just called the wrong thing.”

“I know,” Regina’s face is set with a firm resolve. She looks up, and there’s a twinkle in her eyes. “I know what I need to do.”

Emma passes over another few pieces of lavender and Regina takes them with surety this time. She takes a long, deep breath, and throws it to the candles. Then she shuts her eyes and she begins to chant.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

The blonde’s eyes wash over her face again, taking in the determined set of her beautiful features. She could so easily get lost in them.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

Her eyes drift down to Regina’s hands as they sit, flat, but rigid on her folded knees. Her back is ramrod straight, hair blowing in the soft breeze.

“ _Venite mihi, pervolitate in pennis placidis_ ,”

The now familiar rustling sound begins somewhere deep in forest. It’s louder than before, and Emma worries for a moment that Regina may have got it wrong again, but then there’s the flapping sound of wings and from the trees a whole host of huge blue and black butterflies flutter towards them. They fly in formation, dipping and circling around their heads, spreading their massive wings wide like fans.

Regina’s eyes fly open, taking in her handiwork. Then her gaze turns to Emma, and she raises an eyebrow. Her face is full of mirth, challenge hanging in her eyes that dares the blonde to state  anything other than the obvious: she won.

Emma feels her own gasp of laughter escape her lips, eyes rising heavenwards to watch the butterflies in their continued display of aerobatics. Her gaze dips back to Regina for a moment, who has returned to watching as the blue and black giants sail through the air like beautiful paintings freed from a canvas, and she feels a twinge in her chest.

“That was amazing,” she whispers, drinking in the sight of her. “Totally amazing.”

Regina lowers her head, turning so she can look the blonde square in the eye. Their locked gazes do something to Emma’s insides she doesn’t even want to think about, and she swallows thickly as Regina shoots her the softest of smiles. “Now you know how I feel.”

And in that moment, Emma believes for a while that maybe that’s possible, and maybe she actually does.

***

Regina’s lessons happen in random intervals and stolen moments, since magic doesn’t seem tameable enough to either of them to have any kind of regular schedule. Besides which, regular schedules have never been Emma’s thing, however much they might be Regina’s.

Now she knows how much the other woman is capable of, it’s far more fun to spring the lessons on her unexpectedly anyway. Floating a plate into mid air and yelling ‘Think fast’ before letting it spiral towards earth may do something to increase the brunette’s blood pressure, but it also seems surprisingly effective.

On the odd occasion though, they do manage to schedule something. More often than not when Henry’s off with the Aunts doing whatever it is that entertains five and a half year old boys when his great aunts are witches. And that’s how they come to be bundled at the bottom of the garden in hats and scarves with Regina frowning intently at a fork.

“I don’t understand it,” she states, unamused.

“That’s because you’re listening to it all wrong,” Emma insists, reaching over and smoothing out Regina’s hand so the utensil can sit flat on it for no other reason than an excuse to touch her. “The metal is manmade, it sounds different to natural things. Listen to it first, then you’ll be able to shape it.”

The brunette sighs and gives her a long, sideways look, but then turns her attention back to the fork. She squints at it, then closes her eyes, tilting her head to one side. There’s a long moment of absolute silence where Emma can almost hear the cogs turning in the other woman’s head, then slowly, the metal on Regina’s palm starts to warp and change.

She grins, watching as it bends itself out of shape into a pool of silver, then trickles back into its original design. When Regina’s eyes open again she’s smirking, just like she always is when she manages the tasks Emma sets her. The blonde isn’t altogether sure there isn’t a constant scoring system going on that she’s not aware of. If there is, she’s pretty sure Regina’s winning.

***

“I have a present for you,” Regina says when Emma opens the door on Friday evening. Her eyes are twinkling, but there’s also something inexplicably shy in the woman’s demeanor.

“You do? But my birthday’s not for months!” she jokes, and Regina rolls her eyes, reaching out and taking her by the wrist as she turns and heads back down the porch steps. It’s not quite hand-holding, but it’s close, and Emma takes a nervous gulp at the feel of the other woman’s sure fingers on her bare skin.

Regina leads them over to the pond, where Emma’s confused to see an old rusty wheelbarrow sticking out of the center.

“I thought you weren’t on the mobs’ side,” Emma jokes at the sight. “Why is my present you trashing my garden?”

“It’s not,” Regina’s lips pull into a sly smile. “This is.”

Her eyes never leave Emma’s, but the blonde feels something shift in the air, there’s the whispering sound of movement from the pond and curiosity overtakes her, turning her head to see.

The wheelbarrow is warping, changing, dissolving from its mold into a shapeless blob before it starts to stretch again. Arms of seemingly liquid metal stretch out and start to form a new shape, and Emma watches in fascination as its new form reveals itself.

It’s a swan, large and majestic, sitting on the pond with its wings spread out, each feather beautifully detailed so it looks almost as if it might take off flying. Emma feels her mouth fall open as she watches every little detail of the swan take shape, from the smooth shape of its beak to the large, dark eye that seems to look at her. Finally, when the final tail feather stretches out and it almost appears to settle into its position on the surface, a spout of water starts pouring from its mouth.

It’s a fountain. A swan fountain. For her.

Emma turns to look back at Regina, and she knows there’s awe written all over her face.

The brunette’s wearing a smug expression, but there’s still shyness beneath it. A tenderness that leaves her a little breathless. “I’ve been practising,” is all she says.

“Regina I…” she doesn’t know what to say. The swan is beautiful in itself, but the gesture behind it stirs something deep within her. She has the sudden unquashable feeling that this gesture should to be returned, instantly.

Without another thought she dips to the ground, scooping one of the larger, raggeder rocks from the shelf leading into the water. She holds it out flat on her palm.

“You said to me,” she whispers, “not that long ago. You said that I could create beauty out of nothing. Out of death.” Regina stares up at her, and she feels the fingers that are still clasping her wrist tighten the tiniest amount. “I didn’t really understand then, or believe you,” she continues, “but when I watch you do it, I do. I get it.”

Emma looks down to the rock on her palm, and she waits until Regina’s gaze follows it.

“This is for you,” Emma breathes, and the rock begins to change. Fault lines appear down its surface, and it begins to crack outwards, shards of it splitting away at the top and fanning outwards from the center. They smooth out, curling around each other, even as their pale gray coloring darkens.

The blonde is left with a single, bright red rose in her palm.

She looks up just in time to see Regina’s breath hitch in her throat, eyes flicking from the rose to Emma’s own, and back several times.

“Emma,” her voice is barely above a whisper, and suddenly the blonde realizes just how close they are to each other.

Their eyes meet, and then they’re falling into each other, the rose still cradled between them and Regina’s fingers heavy on her wrist. The brunette’s mouth is millimeters from hers, their breath mingling and they both move in sync to close the final distance between them.

Then there’s a shout from the porch, “Mommy?” Henry calls, and the spell is broken. They jump away from each other, Regina’s fingers falling from Emma’s wrist, the rose falling to the floor with a thud much louder than any natural rose should make.

Emma turns and flees back inside at a run.  


 

 


	9. Chapter 8

Regina takes in a great, gasping breath. Then another, and another. It takes about eleven for her to feel like she isn’t going to do something ridiculous - like throw up. She swipes a hand over her face, closing her eyes for a moment to focus herself. When she opens them again her gaze falls to the ground, to the red rose lying abandoned on the rocks it was born from.

The flower sits untouched, unmarred by its fall. If anything, Regina thinks the red of the soft petals looks brighter - but she puts that down to a trick of the darkness. Her gaze flickers briefly towards the house, and then she turns and strides back to her car, hands stuffed deep into her coat pockets.

She drives home much quicker than she normally would, unaware as to the way her front door opens and closes of its own accord, or how the lights in her kitchen turn on without her flicking the switch.

It’s not until she’s removed her coat and scarf and she’s standing at the counter watching as a bottle hovers in mid air, pouring blood red wine into a glass, that she realizes what’s happening.

The brunette lets out a little yelp of surprise, eyes widening, and the bottle smashes into a thousand tiny pieces, wine splashing everywhere. She throws an arm up to cover her face, and then lowers it again slowly, as if afraid something in her kitchen might jump out at her. Which isn’t actually an impossibility.

She stands there staring for a minute, dismayed. Then she stumbles backwards into a chair and lets her head fall to her hands, eyes squeezing shut.

She’s not quite sure what happened tonight. All she wanted was to give Emma something, to say thank you. She’d wanted Emma to be proud of her, and proud of herself. And then there’d been a rose and Emma had looked at her with those damned _eyes_ and they’d been so close she could breathe her in and for a second her heart had sung because the blonde had been just as much in that moment as she had.

Regina lifts her head again, taking in another lungful of air, letting her mind settle. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why Emma ran. Storybrooke’s a small town, one she gets the feeling Emma has never actually left, on top of which the woman was married, happily it seems. To a man. This wouldn’t be the first sexuality related panic she’s had to deal with. She had a good few of her own back in the day. But she’d assumed Emma was straight - and by assumed she means repeated it as a mantra when the temptation to kiss her was becoming stifling. In fact, now she thinks about it, she’s spent so much of their relationship aggressively reminding herself of the blonde’s sexuality, that it’s altogether possible she was not seeing things that, however unintentional on Emma’s part, were not particularly heterosexual at all.

Looking at it objectively, nothing about the way they interact has ever been squeaky clean and platonic. She knows that sometimes, more often when she’s drunk but even when she isn’t, she looks at Emma in varying shades of ‘You’re an angel sent from heaven’ to ‘I’m hungry and the main course tonight is you’. It’s difficult to suppress sometimes. In that same vein though, the way that Emma looks at _her_. Regina has always assumed that she falls into the green gaze so easily because she’s so smitten, but it’s altogether possible that this whole time she was also being invited in.

Emma running tonight hurts, but suddenly it’s the fact that there was something for her to run from that’s more important to Regina. Emma might be mainly straight, but there’s clearly a little bit of her that isn’t. A part which she herself seems to have brought forward - and suddenly she’s feeling a little less like heartbreak at Emma’s hand is so inevitable. This means she has a chance, and okay maybe it’s a tiny one, but it’s still a chance.

She just needs to let the blonde work things out, and that might mean giving her some space.

Regina stands, reaching for a cloth and crouching to mop up the spilt liquid on her kitchen floor. This time it’s a conscious effort that lifts the glass into the air, each shard hanging suspended before she floats them into the wastebin. Magic is even better than the brunette had ever imagined it could be, and she’s proud of how fast she seems to be mastering it. A lot of that, she admits to herself, is because it makes Emma look at her the same way she imagines she’s looked at Emma since that first little magical display. More than that though, it’s because every time one of those looks is shot in her direction, it’s followed immediately by a tiny flicker of understanding in Emma’s green eyes. Every time she performs magic in front of her, Regina sees the blonde find a little bit more love for herself - and that’s all she ever really wanted.

Anything else is just bonus.

***

Regina tries very hard not to be hurt that Emma doesn’t call. Or text. Or send a carrier pigeon, or a smoke signal, or at the very least an Aunt. She’s got to give her space, or else this will just end even worse than it would have before. Still, the blonde is a disturbingly permanent feature in her life, as is the rest of the Swan family, and going the whole weekend without so much as a peep from them is as unsettling as it is downright boring.

It’s worse when Henry appears to class in perfect time on monday morning, but doesn’t even manage to spare her a smile. It throws her off completely, worried that she’s misjudged the situation. Maybe Emma is straight and she’s disgusted with her, has instructed Henry not to talk to her. The brunette spends the whole morning with her mind racing through the different, awful possibilities, and by the time lunch arrives and she’s asked Henry to stay behind, she’s a bit of a mess of worry.

Once the rest of the class has filtered out, Henry rises reluctantly from his seat and shuffles to the front of the room.

“Henry?” Regina asks, trying very hard to keep the shake out of her voice.

“Yes, Miss Mills?” He doesn’t look her in the eye.

“Henry, sweetie, what’s wrong?”

He pauses, biting at his lip, and she waits with baited breath.

Finally he looks up at her, and his small brown eyes are accusing. _Oh god_.

“You didn’t come to dinner,” he mutters, and she blinks at him. That isn’t at all what she was expecting.

“What?”

He shifts, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his sweater. “You didn’t come to dinner,” he says again, jutting out his lower lip. “You didn’t come, you’re meant to come. You didn’t come over all weekend.”

Regina finds she can only stare at him.

“You didn’t even call.” His small brow is creased, and his wide-eyed gaze is a jumble of sadness and confusion. “I asked momma why you weren’t there and she got this funny look and said you were probably scared.”

The brunette’s eyes widen.

Tears well in Henry’s eyes, and he bangs his sweater-covered hands together in discomfort. “Do you hate us now too?”

Regina swears she can feel her heart shatter. It only takes a moment, then she’s out of her chair and around her desk and she’s scooped the boy up into her arms. “No,” she whispers fervently, “no no never, Henry, never. I will never hate you, I promise.”

There’s a second’s pause, and then desperate little arms are around her neck, and there’s a muffled sobbing from her shoulder, and a dampening patch on the sleeve of her dress that she finds she couldn’t care less about.

She holds Henry to her like her life depends upon it, keeping him held tightly in her arms as if there he might be safe from the world of hurt around him.

“Henry I’d never hate you,” she murmurs against his hair. “You have to believe me. Whatever happens, if you want me, I’ll be here for you.”

That’s one hell of a promise to make, the kind of commitment that made her shy away from the idea of children in the first place. Her mother wasn’t there for her, neither was her father really. She’s always assumed she doesn’t know how to be an actual mother. But the thing about Henry, is that despite the fact that he’s not even a little bit hers, that she’s not his mother, nothing close - he makes her want to try.

Henry pulls back a little ways, looking up at her through wet lashes. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” she tells him, pouring every ounce of sincerity she can muster into the words.

He sniffles, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. Which, frankly, is a disgusting habit that his actual mother should have trained out of him - but as it is all she really sees is Emma’s unconventional parenting and then her heart is aching with the thought that all she wants in life is to be a proper part of this ridiculous little family. This ridiculous little family that she loves with all her heart and every ounce of her being.

“Okay,” he nods, starting to pull himself back together. “I thought this meant that I wasn’t allowed to love you eitherer and that’s not fair.”

Regina frowns. “Henry, what do you mean, not allowed to love me either?”

He sniffs again, fidgeting under her hands where they’ve come to rest on his arms. “Like I’m not allowed to love momma.”

The brunette blinks at him. “Henry, what are you talking about? You love your mother.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, I’m not allowed. She used to get mad with me if I ever said it. So now I can’t say it. She says so. I’m not allowed.”

She finds that she can only stare at him, completely dumbstruck.

“Henry, are you telling me you’re not allowed to tell your mother that you love her?”

He nods his head. “Never. Or a bad bad thing will happen.”

Regina feels anger course through her like a slap in the face, waking her from her thoughts of happy little witch families. “What bad thing?” she asks, sharper than she intended.

Henry scrubs his sleeve at his nose again and shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Right.” She straightens up, trying to fight the crushing feeling that she’s been lied to. “Henry, where’s your mother right now?” she asks.

“At the shop,” he mumbles.

“Right,” Regina says again. She looks to the clock on the wall - she still has most of lunch hour left. “Henry, go and get your lunch. There’s something I need to do.”

***

Emma’s brooding when the door to her shop flies open.

For a moment she’s excited, thinking it’s someone come to mess with her - and she’s just in the mood to turn someone into something ugly and amphibian.

But then she sees that there’s no one at the door yet and for a minute she thinks that maybe Mal’s just in one of her moods - the Aunts have been cross at Emma all weekend after all - but then Regina storms in looking like a dark angel, thunder in her expression.

The blonde panics, she’s not ready for this confrontation. She’s not ready for the things it might make her feel and the things it might make her admit. To herself and to the other woman.

“ _What_ ,” the brunette starts, slamming the door shut behind her - at least she has the good grace to keep this discussion private, “have you been filling that poor little boy’s head with?”

Emma blinks at her. That’s...not what she was expecting.

“I...what?” she asks, dumbfounded.

Regina takes a menacing step forward, and Emma realizes for the first time she was very right about there being an edge in there, something other than the good-spirited, kind-hearted Regina she normally sees. She assumes this is how Henry has been coming home with fewer bruises, fewer fears of being taunted by his peers. She assumes this is the Regina that formed to protect the beautiful soul that was being abused by her mother.

She can’t say that she hates it - except right now, when it’s directed at her.

“That child,” the brunette says, and her voice is low and dangerous, “came into my classroom and cried on me because he thought I hated him and - and here I quote ‘thought this meant that he wasn’t allowed to love me either’.”

Emma sits up straighter. She suddenly has a very bad feeling. She wants to say something, cut this off before she has to hear what Regina’s going to say, but the woman just plows on.

“According to him, he’s not _allowed_ to say that he loves you or else, and here I quote again, a ‘bad bad thing will happen’.” Emma flinches. This is something Regina was never meant to know, a topic she was never meant to find out about.

“Well?” Regina asks, and she folds her arms across her chest. “Care to explain yourself?”

The blonde hesitates for a moment, there’s a tiny part of her which wants to tell the truth - but the truth is something she herself finds it difficult to face. It’s not something she wants to discuss, especially not with Regina, especially not after what happened in the garden. If anything, Regina is the last person she wants to tell about the curse. She’s beginning to realize, no matter how slow or painful the realization is, that what she feels for Regina isn’t a misconception. It isn’t confusion. There’s something real there, something she’s terrified of, but something she’s equally terrified of losing. Whatever happens, she cannot lose Regina from her life, and telling her the truth would be a pretty surefire way of scaring her into permanent retreat. Even if not telling her makes her mad for a while.

“It’s none of your business,” she replies, and winces at the fury that flashes in the other woman’s eyes.

“It is when he’s sobbing on my shoulder about it.”

That hurts. God, does that hurt. It’s not like she likes the situation. Her son is her everything, upsetting him is the last thing on earth she wants to do - but this, this is necessary. Necessary to keep him alive.

Any man who loves a Swan woman.

It sucks, and she hates it as much as it seems Henry does, but she’s doing what she has to to keep her son alive, and she’ll defend that decision until the end. So long as Henry’s alive, that’s what matters.

“Leave it, Regina,” she replies, and she shoots her a look to let her know she means business.

“No,” her eyebrow flicks up briefly in challenge, and Emma curses. Any other day, any other topic, she’d be grateful that Regina cares enough about Henry to be this protective. Right now though, she just needs to other woman to stand down.

“ _Regina_ ,” she warns, and stands to meet her gaze across the countertop. There’s outright fury in the brown gaze, one that’s normally so soft. For a moment Emma wonders if this is just about Henry, or if maybe this isn’t a little about what happened on Friday - and she feels her own anger building. She’d thought...it had looked like Regina had at least been as invested in that moment as she herself was. She’d assumed, when the woman had been radio silent all weekend, that she was just as scared as Emma was. Maybe she was wrong though, maybe she just hates her for almost ruining their friendship.

In which case, taking it out on her like this is a really shitty thing to do. It also might be breaking her heart a little bit.

Emma’s jaw sets, her defenses flying right up. “I said it’s none of your business,” she repeats.

“And I said it is when he comes to me distraught,” Regina takes another step forward, almost at the counter.

“He is _my_ son,” Emma’s voice is quiet and cutting. “You have no authority to question me about him.”

Something flashes very briefly in Regina’s eyes, and her angry front crumbles a bit. She takes a final step forward, hands coming to rest on the counter mere inches away from where Emma’s own are. “Emma,” she says, and her voice is pained, “just tell me,” she begs, “ _What_ is going on here?”

Emma’s eyes search Regina’s, drinking in the hurt and the confusion and the fear hiding behind the anger and _oh_ , it’s just possible she misread this entire situation. Because Regina is a good, unselfish person - one who had a physically and emotionally abusive mother and she cares about Henry and of course, _of course_ , this kind of thing would stick up like a read flag on a snowy plain to her.

She can see it, dancing in the brunette’s face. The desperate desire to see the best when she’s fearing the very worst. Emma’s suddenly sure that if it were true, this would be the worst kind of betrayal possible to Regina.

“Regina,” she breathes and in that moment her mind’s made up that she’s just going to tell her everything, consequences be damned, because Henry’s more important than anything. He is to Regina too - and that alone should have earned her the truth a long time ago.

But then there’s a sharp tug in the back of her mind, one that makes her gasp and leaves her reeling with one word burning into her brain and knocking about her consciousness.

“Rubes,” she chokes out, just as the phone starts ringing.

Emma grabs at it and answers in one smooth motion. “Ruby?” she asks urgently.

“Emmalem?” she sounds small, and the blonde’s heart lifts to her throat.

“Rubes are you okay where are you what happened?” the questions fall together into one panicked sentence. Her eyes flick up to Regina, whose expression is one of the utmost confusion.

“Em, he hit me,” Ruby whispers, “He’s drunk and in one of his moods and he wouldn’t stop and I’m so scared, Em, I’m so scared.”

Emma feels her blood boil. “Where are you?” she spits.

“Boston.”

“Stay where you are,” she instructs, “I’m coming to get you.”

“Okay,” then the phone goes dead and Emma can’t think, she’s just moving, her jacket and keys flying into her hands.

“Emma?” Regina asks, and she turns, realizing she’s at the door already. Her mind is racing, she can’t focus. This conversation is important, it might have been about to be one of the most important conversations she’s had in her life, but her sister’s hurt and in danger and she needs her and she has to go dammit.

“I…Regina, I’m sorry. I have to go, I have to...” her gaze turns desperately to her car and back again. There isn’t time, she doesn’t have time.

“Look after Henry for me?” she asks, and that’s all she can do and all she has time for and she has to hope that Regina can see what she’s trying to say. She’s saying that she does trust her with Henry, because she’d never hurt him and she knows the brunette wouldn’t either. That she respects Regina and she does have a say because her opinion matters and maybe, just maybe, she’s saying that she should have a more permanent say because it’s clear how much she cares about that little boy and how much he cares about her, and Emma cares too, about both of them. But there’s no time for them to dwell on it or discuss it because then Emma’s running out the door to her car and driving off, ignoring Regina’s confused shout of ‘Emma’ even though it kills her.

 

 


	10. Chapter 9

Emma breaks about every traffic law there is on her way to Boston. She justifies it with the fact that a, her baby sister is in trouble and that is far more important than any stupid law, and b, that she’s a witch and if she’s bending reality a little bit to make sure she doesn’t hit anyone she’s actually being a far much more responsible driver than most people anyway.

She calls Ruby again on the way, just long enough to get an address out of her before there’s a scuffling noise and the line goes dead again. If she weren’t a witch, then that’s the point in the drive at which she would have wrapped her car around a tree and made Henry an orphan.

When she finally gets there, her heart is beating so loud in her ears it’s almost painful. She violates one final traffic law with some heinous double parking, then jumps from the car and across the parking lot at a run. It’s easy to locate the number apartment - the door’s hanging open - and she rushes inside with Ruby’s name falling in an urgent cry from her lips.

“I’m here,” the familiar voice calls, much less exuberant than normal, and Emma turns to see her cowering beside an end table, phone clutched in her hand. A strange, vacant look in her eyes.

There’s a bruise darkening around her right eye, her lip is swollen and bleeding, and there’s several other smaller cuts across her face. Emma has to physically fight down the wave of angry magic that threatens to burst from her.

“Where is he?” she growls.

Ruby shifts, wincing in pain. She looks uncomfortable. “He...he ran when he heard the car.”

Emma huffs. There’s a choice few words she’d like to say to this Killian, a choice few spells she wouldn’t mind casting on him too - but Ruby is the issue at hand here. She’s the only thing that matters.

“Get your stuff, Rubes. I’m taking you home.”

Emma leans down to help the girl up, by which point she’s breathing heavy. The blonde looks her up and down, assessing. She’s rumpled and bruised, a few other cuts here and there, but she can stand.

“Oh Rubes,” she sighs, “you can’t do this to me. We made that promise - remember that?”

Ruby’s mouth pulls up into a tiny smile. “Yeah,” she nods, “neither of us is allowed to die.”

“Neither of us is allowed to die,” Emma repeats for emphasis. “Now come on.”

As they move though, Ruby gasps in pain, “I think my rib may be broken.”

She has to shut her eyes to keep from hitting something. A display of violence is not what Ruby needs in front of her right now.

“I’ll get your stuff,” she says instead, but Ruby shakes her head.

“I got it,” she breathes, and then there’s things whizzing about the room, and in a few minutes there are three small suitcases by their feet.

Ruby slumps against her. “Could you..” her eyes flicker to the door, and Emma nods, shifting them so Ruby’s arm is around her shoulders. They start at a slow walk, the three suitcases floating behind them.

“I got you, Rubes,” she reassures her.

They take it slow, eventually making it to the car, where Emma throws the cases in the trunk with a wave. Then she gets Ruby set up in the passenger seat. By the time she’s settling into her own seat, Ruby has a hand over her mouth, muffling her soft crying.

“Rubes,” Emma whispers, “it’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay.”

A sob tears from Ruby’s throat.

“Ruby-ru,” Emma doesn’t know what to do, she’s never seen her sister so distressed. It’s understandable, she just wishes she knew how to help better. “You’re safe, we’re going home,” is all she can find to say.

The girl lets out another sob, shaking her head. “It’s not that.”

“Then what -”

“Emma,” she’s cut off by Ruby’s crying reaching almost hysterical levels. “Emma, I killed him.”

Emma stares at her, not sure she heard right.

“I...I’m sorry what?” she asks, voice shaking, staring at her sister as she shakes, tears slipping down her cheeks at remarkable pace.

The brunette turns to look at her, eyes wide and panicked. “He just wasn’t stopping, Ems. He was so angry and he just wouldn’t stop, and I was so scared, I was so scared, and I didn’t mean to do it, Em, I swear I didn’t mean to but he was coming for me again and he had a knife and then there was just this wave and I,” she takes a shuddering breath, another sob escaping her, “I don’t know what happened, it just did. One minute he was rushing towards me and the next he was just falling backwards.”

The blonde just continues staring, speechless.

“I don’t think it would have killed him,” she says, pleading in her voice, “But the way he fell… he hit his against the table and then he wasn’t moving and he wasn’t breathing and I...oh god, I killed him. I killed him, Em, I killed him.” The last is only just intelligible, Ruby’s crying too hard.

Emma shakes her head, trying to wake herself up. Because this can’t be real. Her sister can’t just have _killed_ her boyfriend, and this has to be nightmare. She resorts to pinching herself, hard, but it does nothing more than leave a smarting red mark on her arm. She doesn’t wake up. The scene doesn’t change.

She’s still sitting in a motel parking lot with a hysterical little sister who’s just confessed to murder right there in the passenger seat of her little yellow bug.

Her brain is completely fried, and for a second she feels so disorientated it’s almost as if she were blind drunk. Then Ruby looks up at her, eyes wide under wet lashes, and says, “Emma we have to do something. We have to bring him back.”

And then she’s totally sober again. “ _What?”_

Ruby sniffs, breathing hard but tears slowly subsiding. “There’s a spell in one of the Aunts’ old books, I saw it when I was little. A spell for bringing someone back - we could do it. We could bring him back and then it’ll be fine.”

Fine, Emma thinks, must be a word that she and her sister have very different definitions of. Still, they can’t do nothing.

“Ruby, we can’t. If it was self-defense we have to go to the police.”

Ruby’s skin turns ashen. “We can’t, we can’t go to the police.”

“Why not?” Emma snaps, she doesn’t mean to, but apparently dead bodies created by her own baby sis set her a little on edge.

Ruby winces. “It doesn’t look like self-defense,” she whispers.

Emma swallows thickly, “I think I need to see the body, don’t I?” And there’s a sentence she never thought she’d say.

The girl turns guilty eyes to her, then to her lap. She nods.

Emma helps Ruby out of the car and back inside, where she directs them into the bedroom.

The blonde stares at the floor where the body of the late Killian Jones is sprawled across a disgusting, cheap fur rug. Her eyes shift to her sister, then back again, then to her sister.

“Ruby, what did you _do_?” she asks, dismayed.

Ruby is huddled by the door, pointedly not looking at the body.

“I told you, I don’t know,” she mumbles. “It was instinctual.”

“Your instinct told you to do _that?”_ Emma tries very hard not to shriek, looking back once again to the man on the rug. Only he’s not quite a man. Most of him is, except one hand which is distinctly webbed. The rest of him is an odd mottling of normal human skin and the shiny green of a frog’s.

“I was scared!” Ruby’s eyes are wide. “I think I tried to do two spells at once and it just…went wrong.”

“I’ll say,” Emma exclaims.

“Emma, please, we have to take him back home, we have to fix this.”

The blonde takes a deep breath, pinching her eyes shut. Ruby’s right, of course. They can’t leave him here, because he’ll be found, and they _certainly_ can’t take him to the police. Taking him home is the only option.

“Okay, Rubes,” she sighs. “I can’t promise anything. If that spell you remember even is for revival, it’ll be old old magic, probably way beyond both our skill levels.”

“But you’re saying we’ll try?” she asks.

“Yes,” Emma sighs wearily, unable to believe this how today has turned out. “We’ll try.”

***

The drive home is tense, not to mention disgusting. Dead, half-human half-frog bodies really stink.

When they finally pull into the drive, Emma gets out to check the Aunts are still gone, then goes to the car to help Ruby. She floats the body in behind her, taking it into the kitchen and laying it down on the table.

“Which book?” she asks Ruby once she’s sat her down in a chair.

“The dusty old brown one on the top shelf,” she says, “ya know, the most clichéd looking spellbook we own.”

Emma rolls her eyes, calling the tome down with a wave of her hand.

“Page sixty three,” Ruby supplies, “or eighty three. There’s definitely a three in it somewhere.”

The blonde flips through, and on page seventy three she comes to a page headed with a skull, and the title ‘A spell to reawaken the dead’ in a careful, calligraphic hand.

“Got it.”

The ingredients are relatively simple, and she flits around the room collecting them with the kind of ease she long thought she’d forgotten. It would seem it’s impossible to forget how to be a proper witch. The Aunts would be proud, she thinks, then laughs at herself because if they knew the spell she was managing to cook up with such ease they would be thoroughly ashamed.

She starts getting everything together on the table then turns to Ruby. “I need something white to draw the pentagram,” she instructs.

The girl nods, eyes beginning to flit around the kitchen. A tall metal can lands on the table by Emma’s right hand.

“Seriously?” she asks Ruby, and the girl shrugs apologetically.

“That’s all there is.”

Emma closes her eyes and shakes her head. This is ridiculous. She doesn’t know how long they have though, so this will have to do. She picks up the can and squirts the cream out of it into a five-pointed star on Killian’s chest.

“Alright, Rubes, I’m gonna need ya now.”

The girl pulls herself out of her chair and steps towards the table. Emma looks at the book, skimming over the words.

She gives Ruby a hard look. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Ruby nods.

“Okay. These are the words: _Black as night, erase death from our sight. White as light, Mighty Hectate make it right_. Got it?”

“Got it.”

The blonde expels a long breath through her mouth. “Good, then let’s do this.”

***

Regina is completely perplexed by the afternoon’s events.

Her confrontation with Emma had left her with more questions than she’d had at the start, on top of which the woman’s disappearance is setting her teeth on edge. She hates that most of the reason behind that is that she’s _worried_. Worried sick, in fact.

All she’d managed to gauge from the brief phone conversation that preceded Emma’s departure was that something was going on with Ruby - something that made the color drain from Emma’s face and fear dance in her beautiful eyes. And call her crazy, but that has Regina a little panicked.

She’s angry though, so angry, because she’s definite in that Emma is hiding something from her - but her demeanor towards the end of the conversation is making her question whether it’s what she originally feared. She hopes it isn’t what she feared, because if it does turn out that Emma has been doing anything to hurt that little boy, it will break her heart. Break it into a million tiny pieces she doesn’t think she’ll ever manage to reassemble, because it would be the biggest and worst betrayal she could possibly imagine.

She doesn’t want to believe that there is anything like that going on, finds it very difficult in fact, but when a child tells you their mother says if they express their love for you something terrible will happen - what else are you meant to think? It doesn’t help that Emma had started out so damned defensive on the topic. If she’d just explained, or said it was a misunderstanding, Regina would have believed her in a heartbeat. But the woman hadn’t given her a straight answer.

It had hurt too, when she’d pointed out so harshly that she had no claim to Henry. She knows that it _shouldn’t_ hurt so much, but the thought that if Emma should so wish it, Regina might never be able to even see the boy again is one of the most frightening things she’s ever had to face. About as frightening as the idea that _Emma_ would hurt her like that.

That’s not the most perplexing thing, of course. That would be the way that Emma had turned back to look at her and asked her to look after Henry, something so deeply trustful in her eyes, swimming in a sea of regretful apology. As if she were taking back everything she’d said in the last five minutes.

Regina looks to where Henry’s sleeping, chest rising and falling evenly, chin tucked under the duvet, and sighs. All she wants right now is for Emma and Ruby to get back in one piece, and then maybe they could discuss this properly. They still need to talk about Friday, because taking everything else into account, Regina no longer believes letting that stew is the best option. If they’re going to talk, they need to _talk_ , all cards on the table. And if she walks away from that conversation heartbroken, then at least it’s better than living a lie.

The sound of the front door opening and closing wakes her from her reverie, and she assumes the Aunts are back - which means she should probably be leaving. She hesitates though, reluctant to leave Henry, just on the tiny off chance that something happens and he’s stolen away from her, never to be seen again.

She hears the faint sound of voices, and rises from her seat. She crosses the room, bending down to place a soft kiss on the boy’s forehead. He fidgets, letting out a little sigh, and his lips curl up at the corners. Regina’s do the same, then she straightens, heading for the door.

As she reaches the top of the stairs though, she hears the most almighty racket from downstairs. There’s a manly shout, a female scream, then the sound of a scuffle followed by lots of shouting.

She creeps down the stairs, peering around the railings to peer in the direction of the noise. It’s coming from the kitchen, and she leans over further as there’s more panicked shouting - shouting that sounds like Emma - and then a loud, male groan that isn’t dissimilar to the sound of a stuck pig.

Then a body falls to the kitchen floor with a resounding thud, and Regina has to bite down on her tongue to keep from letting out a yelp of surprise. She can just about make out the body on the floor well enough to see that it’s a man, but then she hears footsteps, and retreats back up the stairs enough so she’s covered by shadow.

She watches on in horror, stuck in her hiding place on the stairs, as Emma appears from the kitchen, blood smeared across her cheek and right down her chest, with the body floating in the air behind her. The door opens obediently, and then Emma disappears into the night, body and all.

The brunette sits there shell shocked for a minute, then she creeps back down the stairs and towards the conservatory and the back door nestled behind the Aunts’ wide array of pot plants. Once she’s outside, she doesn’t stop running until she reaches her car.

***

Emma wakes up on the couch, disorientated, with a splitting headache. It takes her a moment to remember that these things are all down to the fact that yesterday she woke a homicidal Irishman from the dead before promptly re-killing him with a kitchen knife when said reawakening went wrong.

For all the jokes and stories the townsfolk make, she’d never thought she would actually wake up covered in someone else’s blood. It takes a monumental effort on her part not to lose her shit on a grand scale. Instead she just reaches calmly for a couch cushion and then proceeds to scream into it until the images of running a half transfigured frog man through with a knife whilst he tried to choke the life out of her sister are dimmed somewhat.

She feels a touch better afterwards, better enough to go in search of coffee at least, and she makes it as far as the hallway before something stops her in her tracks.

Regina’s coat is hanging on a hook by the door. Dark, and unoffending - save for what it implies. Emma races up the stairs, throwing open the door to Henry’s room. He’s still sound asleep, soft little snores coming from his bed - that means Regina brought him home last night like Emma had asked. She rushes out of the room, pulling the door closed behind her, and heads to the guest room. It’s empty, hasn’t been used since the last time they had Midnight Margaritas and Regina couldn’t drive home.

She knows it’s futile, but Emma tries every door upstairs, then every door downstairs. She’s half convinced that if she looks hard enough the other woman will be there, holed up asleep somewhere in blissful ignorance to what happened in this house last night. Except she isn’t there, she isn’t anywhere, just her coat hanging like a beacon of doom near the front door.

Emma knows Regina wouldn’t leave Henry on his own, and the Aunts still aren’t back - and that means she knew Emma was home. That means she knew she wasn’t in the house alone, and something caused her to leave it again in such a hurry she didn’t even pick up her favorite black wool blend coat. The blonde can only imagine which of the many things that happened in that goddamned kitchen that it might have been.

She feels her heart drop to her stomach in absolute dread - if Regina saw Killian...if she saw the casting or the fight or the _body_. God, she’ll probably never look at Emma again.

She has to do something, _now_ , before the brunette can make up her mind about what was going on and Emma can lose the woman who brought light back into her life. She has to make this right.

She has to.

***

“Regina? Regina? Regina!”

The brunette shuts her bedroom window. She doesn’t want to hear her, her heart honestly cannot take facing Emma right now. She’s too angry, too _confused_.

“Regina, please!” It’s muffled but it’s still there. Emma’s voice. Emma’s lovely voice that sends shivers down her spine and puts her at ease in a way a voice never has before. Except right now it isn’t, right now it’s putting her on edge. “Please.” And the voice is begging, she can’t take begging.

She closes her eyes, concentrating very hard on the thought of silence - and how she wants it surrounding her. It’s sloppy spell work, but it does the trick. She can no longer hear the blonde or the pleading in her voice.

She knows she’ll have to face her eventually, though she’s not looking forward to it, but she’s just not ready yet. Because as sure as she was three days ago that this whole thing between them might even work out, now she’s almost positive she’s about to have her heart broken in every way it’s possible to break. She thinks she can be forgiven for wanting to put that off until at least after breakfast.

***

“Emma Swan.” The blonde stops short the moment she enters the house. The Aunts are back and they’re standing there and they’re staring with those all-knowing looks and oh boy is she in trouble.

“Would you like to explain what on earth you have been doing in this house?” Mal asks, and she shoots her one of those looks that makes her feel like a five year-old who stole a cookie.

Still, she was an excellent cookie thief as a child. “What are you talking about?” she asks, stuffing her hands into her pockets.

Lena raises her delicate eyebrows. “We’re talking about the spell you did here last night. This house stinks of old magic, girl.”

The blonde swallows thickly. “Old magic doesn’t have a smell.” It’s the wrong thing to say, because next thing Mal and Lena a sharing a look that only goes to reinforce how much of a child Emma feels in this moment.

“Oh my sweet, sweet girl,” Mal whispers. “What have you done?”

And Emma tells her. There’s no point in lying about it, so she lets them guide her down to the couch and then she tells them everything. About Ruby, and the phone call, and the abuse. She tells them about Killian, and Ruby’s misfiring spells, and the frog skin. About the way her little sister had looked at her with wide eyes and asked her to do the impossible, how wrong it had gone and how wrong _he_ had been when he woke again. She tells them about how he’d gone for Ruby and there’d been nothing, nothing but a kitchen knife in her hands and a protective instinct stronger than any messed up morals she may or may not possess.

The Aunts listen with twin faces of sympathy. When she’s done, they exchange another long look, then turn back to her.

“And where is your sister?” Lena asks.

Emma shrugs. “Upstairs, I guess. I asked her to keep an eye on Henry whilst I was at Re...whilst I was out,” she corrects herself, but she knows it’s too late and they heard her. She’s going to have to explain all that to them soon too - Regina’s just as important to them, and they deserve to know what’s happening.

Thankfully, they both seem content to deal with one issue at a time.

“I think perhaps we need to go and have a word with her,” Lena frowns, sweeping a swathe of red hair back over her shoulder. “Mal?”

“Oh I completely agree, Lena dear. I think we need to have a nice long chat with the both of them.”

Emma rises, followed by the Aunts, and leads the way up stairs. As she reaches the top though, she frowns. There’s an odd noise coming from Henry’s room.

The blonde opens the door and feels her heart leap immediately to her throat. Ruby is pinning Henry to the window with a hand around his neck, and the little boy is making muffled sobbing noises as he struggles against the grip.

“Henry!” she yells, running for him, but Ruby waves a bored hand in her direction and then she’s pinned against the opposite wall.

“Ruby!” Mal’s voice calls, appalled, from the doorway.

“Not Ruby,” she says, only it’s not Ruby’s voice, and as she turns her head to grin at them Emma feels herself gasp. They’re not Ruby’s eyes either, they’re eyes she watched the life slip out of as she twisted a kitchen knife between the owner’s ribs. Red, and wild, and demonic.

“Killian,” she breathes, wishing she couldn’t believe it.

Ruby laughs. Or Killian laughs, he’s using Ruby’s body but it’s not Ruby.

“Mommy,” Henry whimpers and her gaze locks onto his.

“Henry, sweetie, don’t panic it’s gonna be okay. I promise,” she calls to him, turning panicked eyes to the Aunts.

They share their own look of fear - and that doesn’t instill Emma with a whole lot of confidence. She struggles against the magic bonds that hold her, but she can’t move, and Ruby’s grip is tightening. She looks back to the Aunts with begging in her eyes.

Mal seems to get a hold of herself quicker than Lena, and then she’s waving a hand and a book collides with Ruby’s head with a thud. The girl falls to the floor, unconscious, and Emma feels the magical grip on her release as she slides to the floor.

“Momma!” Henry calls and then he’s running to her and she scoops him up.

“It’s okay, Henry, you’re okay,” she breathes into his hair.

“What happened?” Mal asks, looking down at him sternly.

He steps away from Emma’s arms, small brow furrowed in confusion. “Aunt Ruby wanted to hear my spellings,” he says, “we were just doing my spellings.”

“And then what, sweetie?” Lena asks, bending down.

“And then she went all funny, and she was shaking. And then her eyes were scary and she didn’t sound like Aunt Ruby, and she said she was coming for you momma and I told her no.”

Lena reaches forward a hand to his shoulder, stroking her thumb across it gently. “It’s alright, my darling. Ruby’s sick but your Aunt and I are going to make her better,” she promises, shooting a worried look back to her sister.

Emma, though, is focusing on something else. “Henry, what did you say?”

The little boy turns his gaze back to her. “She went all funny, and she was shaking -”

“No,” Emma shakes her head. “The last bit.”

His face crumples, a mix of anger and concern. “She said she was going to hurt you,” he replies, “and I told her no, so she hurt me.”

The blonde’s eyes widen, and awe that her five year old kid was trying to _protect_ her, swiftly turns to panic, to anger.

“Henry!” she yells, and in that moment all she can see is her son, her _cursed_ son, putting himself in needless danger when she’s so desperately trying to keep him alive. “Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed, Henry. You’re gonna die. Do you understand that? You’re going to die, you can’t _do_ things like that! You’re cursed,” and now she’s hysterical, well and truly hysterical. “Henry, you’re cursed, you’re cursed, you’re going to _die_.”

She’s not breathing properly, she can’t think straight. All she can think of is the echoing noise of a death watch beetle, and the idea of her son’s body lifeless on the ground.

When she looks up though, it’s only for long enough to realize that she’s screwed up big time, because the Aunts are looking at her like she’s grown a second head and Henry’s face is a mask of terror. Then he runs from the room with the speed only boys his age can summon and by the time she’s pulled herself together enough to follow after him, the front door is wide open and she’s left staring at an empty garden.

 

 


	11. Chapter 10

At the first sound of knocking on her door, Regina assumes it’s just Emma again, and turns her attention back to the book she was reading.

At the second, she looks up, turning her head towards the door. The knocking is fainter than Emma’s had been, but it’s coming in faster little raps. Little raps from much lower down the door.

Regina stands and goes to pull it open, only for her heart to leap to her throat when she’s met with a rumpled, sobbing Henry. The minute the door’s open, he flings his arm around her waist.

“Henry?” she asks, wrapping her arms around him instinctively and pulling him inside. “Henry, what’s wrong?”

“Momma,” he sobs, and for a moment Regina’s world stops. Her mind flips through every terrible scenario in twenty seconds flat and at the end of it her only thought is that something’s happened to Emma and that she’s been refusing to talk to her.

“Momma said -” he cuts himself off with another sob, but the additional word is enough to curtail the brunette’s panicked thoughts of mobs, and fire, and witch burning.

“What did your mom say?” she asks, trying to keep her voice even. Because now all she can think is the last time they had a conversation about the things Emma says to him, it was one that left her with the sourest of tastes in her mouth.

“She said I was going to die,” he sobs, and Regina freezes.

“She _what?”_ Her voice is low, dangerous.

Henry finally pulls back to look at her. “Aunt Ruby was strangling me and then momma was yelling and she said I was going to die.”

The brunette’s eyes widen. “Ruby was _strangling_ you?” she asks, but even as she’s thinking that this must be a mistake, her eyes flick down to his neck where, sure enough, there are angry red marks just beginning to darken into bruises.

“Oh my god,” she breathes. This is ridiculous. Still, she did watch Emma removing a fresh body from the house last night, one that by all appearances had been created there as well. There’s another fleeting moment where she thinks maybe she has in fact been monumentally wrong about the woman.

And then her mind shifts back to the look of childlike wonder on her face when Regina had first summoned the butterflies, to the tender expression of care in her eyes as she’d cracked a rock into a rose for her. She thinks of a thousand tiny looks, and touches, and moments stolen together with magic or margaritas or the woman’s wonderfully mad aunts.

She thinks of all those things and she knows. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that Emma is not capable of the wrongs it keeps seeming she’s done. There is something going on, perhaps more than something. There’s no doubt in her mind that the Swans are keeping secrets from her, but she knows in her heart that that secret is not that they are bad people.

So all this, what Henry’s saying right now. It must be some kind of misunderstanding. A terrible one, one she would really quite like to give Emma absolute hell for - but a misunderstanding nevertheless.

“Henry, sweetie, it’ll be okay,” she promises the boy. “I’m sure that’s not what she meant.”

She reaches down to take a clammy little hand in hers and lead him over to a chair, then she crouches down in front of him, a steadying hand on his knee. “Now why don’t you tell me everything from the beginning?”

***

The Aunts faces are deeply apologetic when they show up on her doorstep. There’s a second where she’s angry enough she almost considers not letting them in, but she knows that’s ridiculous because they didn’t do anything wrong.

It was clear from Henry’s story that there’s something happening with Ruby, and that Emma had in fact only been trying to protect the boy. Regina’s still furious at the blonde for losing it like that with him, though. The boy had mentioned something vague about a curse, and for the first time, the brunette wonders if she’s touched upon the secret that seems to be at the center of this family - but she’d put that aside to concentrate on explaining to Henry that grown-ups sometimes got very angry with people they love.

She would know, she’s furious with Emma right now.

“Hello, dear,” Lena gives a weary smile that holds none of her usual joyousness.

Regina folds her arms across her chest. “Hello.”

Mal looks into her, eyes far too knowing, “He is here, isn’t he,” and it’s not actually a question.

She doesn’t have a good reason to lie to them, after all it isn’t their fault. “Yes,” she admits, though she doesn’t stand aside from the door.

“I assume he told you what happened?” Mal asks.

Regina gives a curt nod. “It took a while but I managed to get the whole story eventually, yes.”

“Emma didn’t mean it, you know,” Lena pipes up, her piercing blue eyes sincere. “She doesn’t always go about it very well - but all she’s trying to do is protect him.”

Regina nods, she’s beginning to realize that. “I know.”

Mal raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh you do, do you?”

The brunette meets her gaze. “I’m coming to think so, yes.”

She’s not sure if she imagines the way Mal’s green eyes soften at that, the way her lips quirk into the tiniest of smiles.

“What’s wrong with Ruby?” she asks then, concerned. She only met the girl briefly, but Swans seem to have an amazing propensity to enchant her - she wouldn’t want any harm to come to the girl.

The Aunts share a look that’s part worry, part infuriation. “We believe the silly child is possessed,” Mal answers. “It’s nothing the two of us shouldn’t be able to fix - but what on earth the two of them thought they were playing at trying to bring him back,” she tuts, “foolish girls.”

“Bringing who back?” Regina asks, desperate for some explanation.

“Ruby’s boyfriend had an unfortunate accident yesterday,” Lena begins, but then Mal elbows her, and she lets out a little ‘oof’. “Yes well, Emma can tell you all about it,” she finishes, and Regina’s heart rate picks up.

“Emma’s here?” she asks.

“She will be,” Mal replies. “That girl has a lot of explaining to do, and we’re not about to do it for her. We’re already clearing up the mess she made with Ruby.” She’s clearly cross, but Regina feels acutely that it has more to do with a mix of worry and disappointment, and she thinks - though not for the first time - that Ruby and Emma might have lost their actual parents, but the Aunts are perhaps the best parental figures they ever could have asked for.

“We’d like to take Henry home, so she can talk to him,” Lena explains. “She’ll be over here to explain herself later.”

Regina wonders if she has a say in this, unsure whether she even feels like facing the blonde today. But it’s probably better to hash it all out whilst it’s still fresh, before any grudges or misconceptions have time to settle.

“Alright,” the brunette concedes, finally stepping away from the door. “Henry’s inside.”

***

Emma takes a second on the doorstep just to center herself. She's more nervous than can be at all beneficial, her palms sweaty, the distinct feeling of nausea swimming around her stomach.

Talking to Henry had been one of the most difficult things she’d ever had to do, and it took quite a lot out of her. She never wanted him to know the truth, never wanted to give him a burden like that. But after the way she’d blown up at him, the truth was the only option she really had left to make him understand - because if there’s one thing on earth she needs, it’s for her son to know that she loves him more than anything.

She should have known, of course, that on learning the truth Henry would immediately be more worried about her. He’d promised her over and over that he’d be careful so he didn’t upset her anymore, and she’d laughed and pulled him into a much needed hug and told him he was the best little boy she ever could have wished for, promising - though in her heart she knew it was a lie - that she’d keep him safe.

She turns to the door and knocks with a shaking fist, clutching onto the bottle of tequila in her other hand for all it, and she, is worth.

"Regina?" she calls, and the door opens slowly. She's not sure whether she's more relieved or petrified by its opening.

"Emma," Regina greets, and it's formal, but there's a distant longing in her eyes that reassures the blonde that this mission might not be totally doomed.

"Hey," she replies, unable to stop the grin that blossoms across her face on seeing the woman. "Drink?" she asks, holding up the bottle. It's weak and pathetic, but it's the best she has right now.

Regina hesitates for a moment, glancing at the bottle and then back to Emma's face. "Come in," she mutters, turning on her heel and leading them to her living room. Emma doesn't miss the fact that the door swings shut of its own accord - and she certainly didn't do it.

“How’s Henry?” Regina asks, and Emma’s about to get defensive when she sees that there’s only the faintest trace of accusation in the other woman’s eyes - it’s mainly just honest concern.

“He’s fine,” the blonde assures her. “We talked, I explained some things - things I didn’t want to explain,” she admits, “but I suppose he has a right to know. As do you,” she adds, scratching at the bottle with her thumbnail.

“How about Ruby?” Regina asks, “How’s she?”

“The Aunts are looking after her,” Emma replies. “They need to exorcise the spirit, but then she should be fine.”

"Good. Alright then, Emma," Regina sighs as she sits herself down on a dark, leather couch. Emma takes the one opposite. "You have my attention, now how about you explain yourself?"

The blonde suddenly feels like a naughty child in Regina's class, like she's done something stupid - thrown a spitwad or doodled on a desk. She feels small.

"Where do you want me to start?" she asks, though the answer is obvious. Of course it is, because all it could ever be is the most important thing to both of them.

"Henry."

"I would never hurt him," is what she immediately replies with, because she cannot stress this enough. The idea of Regina even thinking it of her cuts like a knife, and she looks down at the tequila bottle in her hands, thumb moving across the glass to play with the label.

"I know," Regina murmurs in response, and Emma's head snaps up again. She wasn't expecting that - not after everything that the woman must think she's seen.

"You do?"

The brunette nods. "I'm many things, Emma," she says, and her voice is so much softer than the blonde had expected it could be tonight, "but I don't believe, _cannot_ believe that I am such a grievous misjudge of character. If I understand one thing about you, it's that you love that boy. So no, I don't believe you would ever deliberately hurt him."

"Deliberately," Emma repeats, shooting her a smile that holds no joy, just self-deprecating humor. "You're right, I never wanted to hurt him - ever. But... but the truth is I have to do everything I can to keep him safe. And sometimes that’s meant causing a little hurt I wish I didn't have to."

Regina frowns at her, but says nothing, clearly waiting for further explanation.

Emma lets out a ragged breath. This is it then, this is when she lets Regina in on a secret that goes back generations. One she’s not sure has ever been shared with someone outside the family.

"I...we... the family," she gulps, trying desperately to find the right words. "We're cursed," she says, getting it out as fast as she can.

Regina's eyebrows skyrocket. "Cursed? Henry said...but I assumed..." she looks up, “You’re really cursed? That’s true?”

Emma nods. "It dates back hundreds of years - it was my ancestor Maria that did it. She got knocked up and abandoned by some local and the heartbreak turned her bitter. So she cast a spell to prevent her descendents having to go through the same - but her bitterness turned it into a curse. Any man who loves a Swan woman is doomed to die."

Regina stares at her, expression unreadable, and for a moment the blonde thinks that the other woman is just going to laugh in her face. Call her crazy, a fool, a _liar_.

But then, "All the husbands," Regina whispers, and there's actual understanding in her dark eyes. Emma clings to it.

"There's nothing anyone's ever been able to do," she explains, "no matter what we've done to try and escape it, the death watch beetle comes for them. No one survives the curse."

"But Henry -"

"Is a son," Emma swipes a hand across her face. She doesn't even like thinking about this, talking about it aloud is plain painful. "Swan women almost exclusively have female children. The very few documented cases of Swan boys..." she trails off, "well...Swan boys, they're..." The words choke her in her throat, and she feels hot tears welling beneath the eyelids she's shut to try and prevent them.

Regina's next to her in an instant, hands reaching for hers and stroking a thumb across them. Her eyes are pained, and she looks simultaneously like she needs Emma to finish what she's trying to say, and like she never wants to hear it.

Emma holds her gaze for a long moment. "They die, Regina," she whispers. "They all die."

Regina looks like her world is about to fall apart, and Emma flips her hands under the brunette's so as to link their fingers together, clinging to her as if she’s an anchor in a stormy sea. "There isn't a single documented case of a male Swan child living to twenty." Emma tells her, apology in her voice - because this might never stop hurting her, but at least she knew. She knew from the moment they handed Henry to her in the delivery room that she was going to lose him. Regina though, Regina's been allowed to fall for him with blissful ignorance that she's going to end as bereaved as the rest of them.

"That's why I told him he can't say it," she explains, desperate for Regina to understand, "no one knows the specifics of the curse and I just...I'm so terrified that one day he'll say 'love you momma' and then I'll hear that damned beetle and then he’ll be gone. I'm terrified every time a car gets a little close, or he gets a fever. I know it's wrong but I just...Regina, I am so scared, because he is living on limited time."

The brunette takes a shuddering breath, head shaking, eyes wet. "No," she gasps, "no, that can't be right, no. Emma." She looks up and her dark eyes are begging, "Please tell me this is all a joke - isn't it? This is some kind of sick, sick joke?"

She sees in her eyes that Regina already knows that it isn't, but she needs it confirmed anyway. Emma gives the tiniest shake of her head, and Regina crumples.

" _No_ ," it's a ragged whisper, and it carries all the pain Emma feels on a daily basis. If she'd been looking for any more proof that Regina loves her son with the same fervor she herself does, this would be it.

Regina's eyes are wet with tears she seems too stubborn to allow to fall, but her face is a mask of horror and grief and fear.

"You knew," she eventually says, and it’s accusing. "All this time you've let me love that child more and more and you knew... you knew I'd lose him just the same as you."

Emma turns her gaze guiltily to their still intertwined fingers. "I'm sorry," and she is. Regina is good for Henry, good for her, even good for the Aunts. She's good for the family, and Emma selfishly didn't want to risk scaring her away with the promise of inevitable heartbreak if she became too attached. "I'm so sorry, Regina, I am, I just... I just couldn't bear the idea of you being scared away from us."

She looks up and Regina's gaze has softened slightly. "You couldn't?"

"You're the best thing that ever could have happened to this family," she admits, and she means it with all her heart. "You told me that we saved you, but you saved us. You're the first person in generations who hasn't judged us for who we are or what we are." She shakes her head, disbelieving. "Some crazy twist of fate has seemed to make you love us for it."

"I do," the brunette murmurs, and she's looking at Emma in such a way that she can't quite breathe properly. She doesn't know how she ever thought that telling the truth would make Regina run - she's got to stop underestimating this woman.

"You do," Emma whispers in response, eyes locked onto hers. It's not a question, she's just trying to process it, make it go into her frazzled brain.

"I do," Regina reaffirms it anyway.

They stare at each other, and both of them shift at the same time, moving closer so their legs are brushing and their faces are inches from each other’s. Emma's heart pounds in her ears.

"What about the body?" Regina asks, tentative. She looks scared now, as if she's afraid of what this answer might do to shatter her.

Emma can only hope it doesn't.

***

Regina listens attentively through Emma's entire recount of events after she ran out of the shop. Their fingers remain laced together the entire time, Regina’s fingers tightening around her own at points, and the brunette drinks in her explanation with a quiet desperation on her face. Emma's not sure what it is she's desperate for, but she has a feeling it might be for something to prove that the family she's become a part of isn't full of cold-blooded murderers.

"There was nothing else," Emma admits finally, keeping her emotions as tight lidded as she can. "He was gonna kill Ruby and I couldn't stop him and he was barely human and I just...god, I didn't want to Regina, I never wanted to, I just... I did what I had to. He wasn’t even a person anymore, he was just a...a thing," she insists, because it’’s the only way she’ll ever sleep again.

The brunette gives her a long, appraising look. "I think perhaps we should start that tequila now."

Emma nods - she couldn't agree more.

Regina stands, dragging her hands away from the tangle they've become. She disappears through a door to their right, reappearing a few minutes later with shot glasses in her hands, limes, salt, and a knife floating in the air behind her.

Emma's sure that she'll never get bored of seeing Regina do magic. It's satisfying and beautiful and enchanting all at once.

"They're no margaritas," the brunette apologizes, "but I'm not sure I'm really in a margarita mood."

Emma takes a look at the shot glasses, then back to Regina. "Me either," she murmurs.

"Good."

Regina picks up the bottle and unscrews the cap, pouring out two large shots. Then she flicks her wrist and the knife slices the limes into a pile of neat little wedges. She pulls Emma's hand into her lap, shaking a line of salt down her wrist, then she looks back up to meet her gaze. "You first," there's a challenge in it, and Emma smirks because, god, Regina does like to make everything into a competition, doesn't she?

Emma's never been one to turn down challenges though, and without another second's hesitation, she dips her head to lick the salt from her wrist, reaching for the shot and knocking it back. Regina holds out her hand, lime wedge between her fingers for her to take, but instead Emma just leans forward and bites into it where it is, tongue flicking out to taste the juice that escapes onto Regina's fingers.

She looks up, and she's half scared of what Regina's expression might be doing. She's not totally prepared for what she finds. The brunette's eyes are hungry, and she licks her lips in a way Emma's sure is criminal. Any lingering doubts or confusion she had are eradicated with that one gesture, want curling hot in her stomach, and then she's moving again, reaching for the salt and shaking another line onto her arm.

She hands Regina the other shot. "Your turn," she whispers, and then presents her her forearm. The brunette takes a deep breath, her dark eyes are questioning for a moment, as if she's searching for more permission than Emma's extended arm. Emma shifts her body closer to her, reaching out with her free arm to take Regina's hand and twine their fingers back together again.

That seems to do the trick, because then her arm is being cradled by Regina's other hand, and there's a hot tongue licking up her wrist. She gets her arm back for the moment it takes the other woman to drink her shot, and uses the time to scoop up a piece of lime.

Regina pulls her hand to her mouth, biting into the wedge and licking the juice carefully off each of Emma's fingers. Then, catching the blonde's gaze again, she drops the tiniest of kisses to the inside of her wrist.

Emma melts.

It's the softest, most innocent gesture, and yet Regina somehow manages to make it absolutely filthy at the same time.

She reaches for the tequila to pour new shots, and in the meantime the brunette picks up the salt, reaching a hand up to pull her hair out of the way before shaking a little pile onto her shoulder. When Emma looks up again there's another challenge in Regina's eyes. She finds she's all too happy to accept it.

She repositions herself on the couch so her legs are underneath her, then she kneels up, leaning forward and steadying herself with hands on Regina's thighs. Her heart flutters as she lowers her mouth to the curve of the other woman's neck, enjoying the feel of the rough salt against the soft skin beneath it. Regina hands the shot to her, and she pulls back just far enough to meet the brunette's gaze before downing it.

Then she takes the lime from the hand offering it and squeezes it out onto the already wet patch where her tongue was mere seconds before.

She doesn't miss the way that Regina shudders as her tongue swipes across the skin of her shoulder, and then her nose is on the woman's neck and they're breathing each other in, and Regina's mouth is at Emma's ear and she feels her breathing speed up.

Regina's mouth moves, biting a tiny kiss into Emma's jaw in a gentle experiment before they both move as a unit, and then Regina's mouth is on hers and they're all lips and teeth and tongue and Emma moans because goddammit, she never knew a kiss could be this good.

Regina pulls her closer, arms wrapping around her neck. Emma can feel the heat from the other woman's body, and all she want is to feel more of it. To touch her and feel her and hold her impossibly closer. Emma's hands move to Regina's shirt and fumble with the buttons in her hurry to undo them.

She can't help marvelling that it took her so long to understand what she wanted, because it’s clear to her as light of day. There’s no doubt, no confusion. She knows with absolute certainty what it is she wants. She wants Regina.

The desire to feel more of the other woman is almost stifling, and when she manages the final button and pushes the shirt off, it's still not enough. Regina reaches around to grab the base of Emma's tank and yank it off her, then lowers her mouth to suck on a nipple through Emma's bra, making her squirm at the contact. Regina pushes gently until Emma's back is colliding with a couch cushion, then she makes a grab for the salt and shakes a line up Emma's taught stomach. She licks it off deftly, then reaches for the bottle of tequila.

Long minutes pass full of salt, and lime, and the burning feel of tequila on her body and in her throat, and at the end of them Emma’s bra is halfway across the room and then Regina's somehow managed to rid her of her pants as well. The brunette’s tongue licks salt off the inside of her thigh, and Emma feels desperate heat pooling in her center.

Regina swipes her tongue across Emma's lace covered core, eliciting a whine. Her fingers hook into the edge of the material, but then the blonde feels a moment of panic and her hand moves to Regina’s, stilling it.

“Wait,” she breathes, “wait wait wait.”

The brunette looks up, frowning, and Emma pulls her back up her body so she can look into her eyes. “Do you forgive me?” it’s hushed, and pained, and Emma’s never felt so vulnerable in her life, but she needs to know. Because if this is all just the other woman trying to deal with everything’s she’s learnt, then the blonde can’t do it. This is her offering her heart up on a plate, and she can’t do that if Regina’s just in denial.

Regina leans forward, pulling the sweetest of kisses from Emma’s open mouth. “No,” she breathes, and for a moment Emma’s heart is clenching and she half wonders if this is what falling from a cliff feels like, but then the other woman continues, “not completely. Not about Henry yet.”

She looks up and her dark gaze is burning with sincerity, but more importantly to Emma, it’s burning with love. “But also yes. Yes I do, and yes I will. I’m not sure I have it in me not to.”

That’s all she needs, and she pulls Regina’s mouth to hers, hard, nipping her gratitude into already swollen lips, and then Emma's breathing rate increases as Regina moves back again and her panties are tugged down.

"Regina," she breathes, voice shaking with need. The brunette's eyes move to meet hers once, a silent plea for permission, and Emma grinds her hips up in answer. Then the woman’s tongue is caressing her entrance. She circles Emma's clit once with her tongue, and then she's pressing two fingers inside her, gentle but firm.

Emma's head falls back against the leather of the couch, a soft moan falling from her mouth, and Regina drops a kiss to the inside of her thigh, before thrusting up until she's knuckle deep inside her.

She moves her fingers at a steady pace for a minute before adding a third, and Emma arches into them, breathing heavy as she gets closer, grinding herself against them impatiently. The brunette pushes her hips back down, picking up the pace with her fingers before curling them inside her as she reaches up to to thumb her clit.

Regina leans over to kiss Emma as her orgasm hits her, swallowing her moans as she continues to move her fingers inside her. When she releases her mouth again, she's panting.

"Regina," she gasps, and she's not sure she can manage many other words now. Instead she reaches to claw at Regina's pants, making her intent as clear as possible. The brunette allows Emma to clumsily undo the suit trousers, then she stands, reluctantly removing her fingers from the blonde long enough to step out of them. Emma's eyes roam up and down Regina's half-naked body, and she feels another rush of heat in her core.

"Panties," she chokes out, there's not much command in it, but Regina complies anyway, slipping them off and then climbing back on top of her, grinding her hips down against Emma's.

The brunette's hands slip across Emma's stomach and down the inside of her thighs, pulling them apart, and licking up through the wetness coating them.

"You're so wet, Emma," she breathes and the awe in her voice has Emma squirming in anticipation. Regina happily obliges, licking along the length of her before pressing her tongue inside, licking at her walls with a skill that has Emma breathing hard and fast. She removes her tongue, replacing it with two long fingers, swiftly adding a third, and thrusting faster and harder until Emma's is shaking with release again, pulling Regina's body on top of her.

Emma pulls Regina's mouth to hers, and the kiss is sloppy but the brunette still lets out a whimper as Emma bites into her full lower lip.

"We need a bed," Emma whispers, and Regina presses a chaste kiss into her jaw.

"Whatever you want."

"I want your bedroom," the blonde reiterates. "I want to take you to bed," she wraps a leg around Regina's. Her voice is ragged, but she still manages to put some authority in it. "I want you to do that again," she murmurs, and then hesitates for a moment, nerves coiling in her stomach. Then much quieter, she says, "And I want to return the favor."

Regina whimpers against Emma’s mouth as she pulls her into another crushing kiss.

"So?" the blonde asks.

The brunette stands, pulling Emma up onto shaky legs. "This way," she whispers, reaching forward to swipe her tongue across Emma's swollen lips, placing the softest of open mouthed kisses to it. Then she twines their fingers together and leads them up the darkened stairs.

 

 


	12. Chapter 11

Emma is roused in the morning by a distinct feeling of unease. There’s a chill in her bones which has no place there considering she’s tucked up securely with Regina wrapped around her - and _that_ is certainly not making her feel uneasy. Quite the opposite. If it weren’t for the fact that her skin’s crawling she wouldn’t want to move, maybe forever. Regina’s skin is warm and soft against hers, she smells like tequila and limes and Emma finds herself desperately wishing that she could stay where she is and try to lick it off her. Only there’s this niggling feeling inside her, and she half wonders if there’s some sort of parasite under her skin looking for a way out. It’s so strong she’s tempted to start scratching, though there’s no real physical itch.

It’s at that moment that the phone starts ringing, and Emma sits bolt upright, panic coursing through her. Regina groans and throws a hand out, grabbing the handset on her bedside table and bringing it to her ear. “Regina Mills,” she answers. Then she sits bolt upright too.

“Lena?” she asks, and Emma feels the blood drain from her. Regina’s eyes widen, her own face whitening. “We’ll be right there,” she says, voice stronger than her color suggests it should be. With that, she throws back the covers and heads immediately for her closet, grabbing clothes and pulling them on.

Emma finds that she knows, in her heart, what Regina’s going to say - but she needs her to say it anyway, and Regina clearly senses that. “It’s Ruby,” her voice is calm, but Emma hears the underlying panic beneath it. “Lena says it didn’t work - that the spirit’s stronger than they anticipated.” She shoots her a sympathetic look. “She’s bad, Emma, she’s really bad. They need you.”

Emma nods, slipping out of the bed and heading downstairs in search of her own clothes. She wastes no time, practically throwing them on, and by the time she’s there Regina is at her side, slipping a hand into hers and leading her from the house. Regina drives, which is probably sensible considering Emma can’t focus on anything other than the niggling under her skin and the way she feels like she might just vomit out her intestines.

When they get to the house, she runs straight inside. Lena’s waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, a grave expression on her face. They head up to the attic, where Mal is chanting to a red eyed and panting Ruby, trapped in a salt circle, snarling at her captors. Emma’s stomach flips at the sight of her sister like this. This isn’t Ruby. The shell, that’s her, it’s her body, but the expression on her face is that of a madman. The look in her eyes is a kind of dangerous cruelness that does not and never will fit in them.

“Ruby!” Emma can’t help the exclamation leaving her mouth as she sees her, but the girl turns a crazed look in her direction, baring white teeth that are distinctly sharper than they should be.

“We need your power as well, Emma,” Lena says as she crosses the room to take Mal’s hand, extending her own to the blonde, “the two of us alone aren’t strong enough to dispel this spirit.”

Emma bites her lip, she feels like she couldn’t write her own name right now - let alone perform powerful magic, but Ruby’s life is depending on her. She has no choice. She crosses to take her redheaded aunt’s hand, holding her spare with the palm out in an imitation of Mal.

Mal starts chanting, “ _Dite perdant te maledico._ ”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico,_ ” Lena repeats under her breath, the words quiet but authoritative. The two continue to chant, and Emma joins in. The combined words of the three of them brings Ruby to her knees, an angry snarl ripping from her throat.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico,_ ” the three whisper in unison, and Ruby starts to growl, falling forwards onto her hands. “ _Dite perdant te maledico._ ”

An ugly chuckle comes from Ruby’s throat, though it sounds nothing like her.

“It’s not enough,” Lena murmurs, “we need another witch.”

Emma’s heart is beating in her ears, eyes fixed on Ruby’s twisted face.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico_.”

“You can’t get rid of me,” Ruby snarls, and it’s not Ruby’s voice. There’s a female tone to it but it’s mainly gruff, male, and Irish. “You can’t have her back.”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico_.”

“We don’t _have_ another witch,” Mal mumbles, voice strained with effort.

Emma continues to stare at her sister, mind racing, and then without thinking she chokes out, “Yes, we do.”

Mal and Lena turn to her with mirrored expressions of confusion, and Emma simply turns to look at Regina, huddled in the corner looking a strange mix of outraged and terrified. As their eyes fall on her though, her expression turns to one of shock.

“Me?” she asks, incredulous.

“Yes.”

“But I...I’m not a proper witch. I hardly know any spells,” she counters, and Emma can hear the nerves in her voice. She knows they have no place there though.

“Regina, you may not have been born one,” she starts, desperate for the woman to see the power she has inside her, “but you have the soul of a witch.”

The brunette stares at her with wide eyes, doubt swimming in their dark depths. Suddenly Emma sees herself through Regina’s eyes. She sees the fear of who she is and what she can do and the ludicracy of it. Because Regina is bursting with a power she’s just begun to unlock, and it might be terrifying to her, but to Emma it’s beautiful and fascinating.

“I saw it that very first day in forest with the butterflies,” Emma continues. “You use magic without even thinking about it already, Regina, you’re a natural. You can do this.” She glances to her sister, then back to the brunette, pleading in her eyes. “I need you to do this.”

Regina shoots her a desperate look, but then another smug chuckle comes from Ruby and Emma sees the determination settle in the brunette’s dark eyes. “Okay.”

The blonde holds out a hand to her, clasping onto it, and they begin to chant again.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico._ ”

Ruby’s body slams to the floor, fury setting into her warped features as she writhes there.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico._ ”

She kicks and scratches at the wooden floor beneath her, an enraged howl of anger tearing from her throat. “You can’t have her,” she spits out. “If you take me, I’m taking her too.”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”

Ruby screams, and it’s Ruby screaming.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”

She screams again and Emma can’t bear it. “Stop!” she yells, “Stop stop stop!”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”

Emma tears her hands away and drops to her knees outside the circle of salt. “Rubes?” she asks, and the girl looks up at her with crazed eyes. “Rubes, I know you’re there.”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”  Regina and the Aunts continue the chant.

“You can’t have her.” Ruby snarls, though she’s panting, sweat dripping down her face and it’s not wholly convincing.

“Ruby?” Emma ignores the threat. “Ruby, c’mon we made a promise. Neither of us is allowed to die.”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico._ ”

“You can’t do this to me Rubes,” Emma chokes out, “I can’t lose more family, I can’t. I’m going to lose Henry and I can’t lose you too.”

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”

“I love you, Ruby-Ru, please don’t leave me,” she begs, voice barely above a whisper. At the words, the mad look in Ruby’s eyes dissipates.

“ _Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico. Dite perdant te maledico_.”

The girl’s eyes blow wide and she gasps out, head thrown back as an ashy cloud surrounds her body and then disappears.

“Emmalem?” she asks, voice small but definitely just Ruby’s. The blonde gives a watery chuckle.

“Yeah, Rubes, I’m here.”

“Emma,” she whispers, one hand reaching for her, and Emma shoots forward, breaking through the salt circle and throwing her arms around her sister.

“Don’t do that to me again,” she mumbles furiously into the red-streaked hair. “I love you, sis, I couldn’t bare you leaving me for good. You can have as many adventures as you want.”

Ruby squeezes her tighter, a tiny chuckle escaping her mouth. “I think I may be done with adventures.” Then she bumps her head gently against Emma’s. “I love you too, sis.”

A sense of overwhelming relief rushes through her body, soaking in the warm feeling of her sister’s arms. Then a small body collides with her from behind.

“I love you too, mommy!” Henry exclaims. “And you, Aunt Ruby! I love you too!”

The relief gives way to panic.

Emma turns in the combined arms of her sister and her son to stare at the little boy behind her.

“Henry!” she exclaims in horror. “No, Henry, bad boy, take it back!”

The little boy’s small face falls, tiny brow creasing. “But, momma, I love you! I thought we could say it now?”

“No no, Henry, you shouldn’t have been here, you shouldn’t have been watching!”

She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns panicked eyes to Mal. “It’s fine, Emma, saying it once isn’t going to make a difference,” she reassures her. “Relax, darling, it’s fine.”

Emma turns dread-filled eyes from her Aunt to her son and back again, trying to calm her erratic breathing. There’s a long moment of silence in which she hears nothing but the beating of her heart in her ears and then, at the end of it, there’s the loud and unmistakable sound of a beetle clicking.

Emma falls backwards. “No,” she breathes, heart picking up speed again with a vengeance, “no. Not again, please, not again.”

She looks up at the women surrounding her, face begging - as if there’s something they could do. The color has drained from all their faces though, mirroring the terror in her own. Henry is looking up at her in confusion, brow still creased.

The noise comes again, hauntingly familiar, and it’s enough to get Emma moving. She surges off the floor, reaching for Regina and Lena’s hands simultaneously. “Protection spell,” she barks at Mal, “now. Ruby, get Henry, put him in the circle.”

Ruby does as she’s told, “Henry, stay there, okay?” she tells him sternly before joining the circle back together and then taking Regina’s hand in her own.

“ _Spiritus ducentia protego hanc puer,_ ” Lena begins the chant and the four of them join in quickly to chant in unison.

They’ve barely started, however, when Emma feels the weight in her left hand grow heavy, and looks down to see that Regina’s on her knees, gasping for breath.

“Regina!” Emma shoots a look to her son, sitting confused in the middle of the salt circle, to the three women standing around her. “Keep chanting!” she instructs, and then kneels to face Regina.

The brunette looks up at her and Emma’s breath catches - her eyes are red, and there’s a manic look on her face that Emma finds she knows too well.

“Shit, no.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, girly,” Regina grins and Emma’s throat constricts.

“You complete and utter bastard,” she swears, and Regina laughs. The sound is deep and malicious, and it goes straight to Emma’s spine.

“I’m not going without taking someone with me,” Regina’s eyes move to the circle surrounding Henry, a tiny breeze scattering a few grains of salt menacingly, and Emma battles the rising sense of panic that’s threatening to choke her.

“No,” she shakes her head desperately, “you can’t have them. Either of them. Any of them.”

Regina’s eyes roll back and she starts to fall, Emma scrambling to catch her. She sees Mal shoot her a glance, the sound of a beetle echoing in her ears. “Keep chanting!” she yells at her, pulling Regina’s writhing body into her lap. “Whatever you do, don’t stop,” she begs, “please don’t stop.”

She doesn’t know what to do.

She needs to exorcise the spirit from Regina or she’ll die, but she can’t get it out on her own, and if she does Killian will take Henry - and she will _not_ lose her son.

Regina screams in her lap and Emma feels tears well in her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do.

“ _Spiritus ducentia protego hanc puer,_ ”

The words echo in her ears as she looks from her son to the woman in her arms. The woman she loves - because she does. She’s a fool who’s let love trick her once again, and once again it’s biting her in the ass, because that’s all it does to Swans.

“ _Spiritus ducentia protego hanc puer,_ ”

Regina screams. The salt moves again, a gap forming and then Henry’s on the floor too, face turning white and sickly.

“Henry!” she yells for him. This isn’t fair.

“Regina, I…” she doesn’t know what to say. She can’t let Regina die, not the woman who brought acceptance and love into her life again. But she can’t let her son die either, she’s been trying to prepare herself for it since she lost Neal, but it hasn’t worked. Of course it hasn’t, he’s her son, her baby, and he can’t die. She has to keep him safe.

Regina lets out a pained whimper, and Emma looks down at her desperately. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to save you both and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you into my life, I’m sorry I ever let you get caught up in this. I love you and I’m so sorry.”

The declaration surprises her a bit. Not the truth behind it but the fact that it came out so easily. Because of course she loves her. How could she not love the woman who woke her up again?

She feels a hand tighten around her arm, and then barely a murmur, “I love you too,” then stronger, “Save Henry.”

Regina stills in her arms, and she chokes down the tears threatening to fall. She leans down to press a kiss to the woman’s forehead, “I love you,” she whispers against her skin.

A blinding white light comes from nowhere and envelops them. There’s a male scream, another dark cloud streaming out of Regina’s mouth and falling into a pile on the floor, the light grows brighter and in the back of her mind, Emma hears fragmented whispers about curses, and love. Something in her mind crumbles, blowing away as if on a breeze, and it leaves her with a sense of freedom, a lightness in her heart.

Then the light is gone, as quick as it came, and Emma turns to look for her son. Henry is sitting up, the deathly pallor gone from his skin.

“Momma?” he asks, and she’s on him in a second, holding him tight in her arms.

“Henry?” she asks, “Baby, are you okay? Are you okay?” He nods against her skin and she turns immediately, eyes searching for Regina.

The brunette’s sitting upright, looking disorientated, but herself. Emma stands, Henry still in her arms, and hurries back to the woman, pulling her up into her arms.

“You okay?” she asks desperately, “both of you, _are you okay?”_

She presses a kiss into Henry’s hair, tightening her arm around Regina’s waist.

“I’m...fine,” Regina replies, sounding confused. “What happened?”

At that Emma turns to the Aunts, because she has no idea. Mal, Lena, and Ruby are all staring at her in amazement, mouths open.

“What?” she asks, worry bubbling within her again. “What is it?”

“You...you broke it,” Ruby breathes.

“Broke what?”

“The curse,” Lena supplies, sounding equally as awed. “You and Regina… you broke Maria’s curse.”

Emma looks at the two people in her arms, and back to the rest of her family. Her ears strain for the sound of a beetle but are met with only silence.

“I did?”

“You did,” Mal smiles at her, sounding a little less shocked than the other two.

 _“How?”_ Emma asks, incredulous.

“Any man who falls in love with a Swan woman is doomed to die,” Mal tells her, then nods towards the brunette in her arms. “But Regina isn’t a man, dear.”

She and the brunette share are stunned look. “You mean..?”

“Our ancestor’s anger lay with men, not women. There was a fault in her curse.”

“So Henry’s - ”

“Safe,” Lena promises. “The death watch beetle’s gone. It’s never coming back again - not for Henry, not for anyone. Ever. The curse is broken, Emma. For good.”

Emma can’t help the smile that splits her face open. Her heart is swelling with happiness, she feels light. Free.

“Henry,” she whispers, turning to look at the boy on her hip, “I love you,” she tells him, pouring as much love and sincerity into the words as possible. “I love you so much, baby, do you hear me?”

Henry blinks up at her, shooting a look to his Aunts, to Regina, and back to his mother. “Does this mean we can say it now?”

Emma nods furiously, and Henry’s face breaks out into a delighted little grin. Then he moves his arms from where they’re clinging to her shirt and flings them around her neck, peppering her face in tiny kisses. “I love you, momma! Love you, love you, love you!”

She hugs him tighter, not totally convinced she’s ever going to let him go again. Then she turns to face Regina again, feeling a little shyer.

“Thank you.”

The brunette frowns. “For what?”

“Loving me,” Emma offers her a tiny smile. “You’re the one who broke the curse.”

The tips of Regina’s cheeks darken. “You’re easy to love, Emma.” She pulls back slightly, lacing her fingers with the blonde’s, then turns to shoot a look at the Aunts and Ruby, before peering round Emma to look at Henry. “You’re all pretty easy to love.”

Lena floats towards them, pressing a kiss to Regina’s forehead. “We could say the same about you, dear.”

Regina’s smile widens, eyes lighting up, and Emma’s heart warms at the sight. She looks around at them all, her family of witches, feeling a sense of comfort she hasn’t for a long time. Her eyes drift to the pile of ash on the floor.

“We should probably clear that up,” she says with tiny smirk.

Mal and Lena hum their agreement.

“Then I guess we should have some breakfast, I’m getting kinda peckish.”

The Aunts shoot her equal suspicious looks. “And what are we having?” Mal asks carefully.

Emma’s smirk widens to a grin. “Hmm, I dunno. How about brownies?”

 

 


	13. Epilogue

The plates on the counter start to rattle, and Regina jumps, turning to see Emma walking into the kitchen with a smirk.

“I’m sorry.” She throws her hands up in mock surrender. “Old habits and all.”

Regina rolls her eyes, and a dish cloth collides with Emma’s face.

“Ow - hey!” the blonde protests.

Regina just shakes her head fondly, turning her attention back to the herbs she’s grinding.

“The Aunts got you on errands again?” Emma asks, sidling up behind her, and the brunette can’t help the smile that creeps onto her face as arms slide around her waist.

“Does it count as an errand if I enjoy doing it?” Regina asks, turning her head to one side to look into the green eyes just inches away from her own.

Emma pretends to think for a moment. “No, yep, I’m pretty sure if you’re doing it for someone else it’s still an errand - no matter how much you enjoy it.”

The brunette sighs, smiling up at the other woman. “What do you want, Emma?”

She leans her head forward, mouth brushing against Regina’s ear in a way that makes her shiver. “Come outside.”

Regina gives her a suspicious sideways look. “What for?”

“Just come outside, please,” and she turns on her very best puppy face - which of course Regina is powerless to resist.

“Oh fine,” she concedes, allowing Emma to lace their fingers together and drag her gently through the house. She leads her through the garden, to the pond, where Regina tilts her head to one side at the sight in front of her. There’s a bush there she’s never noticed before, large and full, covered in bright red roses.

Emma turns excited eyes to her. “Pick one,” she says, and Regina reaches forward to pluck one from its thorny branch.

“It’s heavy,” she remarks, frowning, as she holds it on her palm, looking to Emma for some sort of explanation. The blonde leans forward and blows on it softly - and for a moment, the surface of the rose begins to shimmer. It’s still a rose, but at the same time it’s a ragged bit of pale gray rock.

Regina’s gaze snaps to Emma. “The rose,” she breathes, and the other woman grins at her.

“Your rose,” the blonde confirms. “It grew.”

The brunette looks down to the flower in her hand, marvelling at its unlikeliness. They stand in comfortable silence for a moment, Regina staring at the flowers Emma unintentionally created for her, and Emma staring at Regina.

The blonde eventually breaks the silence with a little cough. “Regina?” she asks, and the brunette looks up at her.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” her voice is low, and though her words are slow there’s an urgency, an intensity, behind them.

Regina tightens her fingers around Emma’s, squeezing them in reassurance. “What is it?”

Emma’s eyes drift to the shining swan fountain in the middle of the pond, and the nerves on her face start to make Regina anxious. “Emma?”

She turns back to her, and her green eyes are burning. “It’s about Henry.”

Those three words are enough to make Regina’s heart stop for a second. “What about him? He is okay, isn’t he? Emma, there’s nothing wrong, is there?”

“No, no there’s nothing wrong,” Emma reassures her, thumb stroking across the back of Regina’s hand. “I was just wondering…” she trails off, and then her gaze is catching Regina’s, eyes wide, sincere, hopeful. It might just be the most honest, open look Emma has ever given her, and it floors her.

Regina can only look back at her and wait for the end of the sentence.

“I was just wondering,” the blonde starts again, “if you might...if you’d like to. Well, I was wondering if you might want to adopt him?”

The brunette’s mouth falls open.

“I was wondering if you might want to adopt him,” Emma continues, and Regina feels the fingers around her own tighten, “after marrying me?”

The breath leaves Regina’s throat and she finds herself speechless, mouth open, just staring at the other woman.

Emma stares back, heart in her eyes, lower lip drawn between her teeth as she waits.

Regina still can’t talk though, because she can’t quite believe what Emma’s just asked her. The pause is verging on the side of awkward though, and she can see the nerves growing on Emma’s face. If she can’t say something, she needs to _do_ something.

So she does. She surges forward and captures Emma’s mouth with her own, freeing her fingers from the other woman’s to slide them up to her wrist and pull her closer. Emma’s hands move to her waist, holding her there. She pulls back just enough to free her mouth, but keeps their noses touching.

“Is that a -”

“Yes,” Regina replies, words finally returning to her. “Yes.”

Emma’s mouth splits into a wide, radiant smile. Then she moves her mouth back to Regina’s. The kiss is gentle, lazy, mouths moving together in a practised, familiar way. They kiss for long minutes, nothing fierce or urgent in it, just enjoying each other’s taste, the way their lips feel together. Regina’s fingers are clasped gently around Emma’s wrist, a rose made of rock cradled between them. It’s the kiss they never had, and every kiss they have had since. The kiss is made of the lightness, the happiness that both of them brought to each other.

They break apart for a moment and Emma takes the rose from Regina, keeping it held between them but clenching her fist around it. She closes her eyes, concentration setting in to her features. Then a second later she opens them again - fingers opening at the same time. The rose is gone, and in its place there’s a small, glittering diamond.

Regina feels her eyes widening, but Emma’s not done. The blonde reaches for her left hand with tentative, careful fingers. Her eyes flick to the metal swan sitting on the water, and with a quick jerk of her head, a tiny, delicate wing feather breaks off and moves to settle itself around Regina’s ring finger. By the time the diamond has also nestled itself into the metal, Regina has already moved her mouth back to Emma’s.

This time the kiss is harder, tongues and teeth and hands that grab to pull closer. This kiss has them falling into each other, holding tighter, like they never want to let go.

This kiss is a promise.

***

“Did you ask her did you ask her did you ask her?” Henry barrels into them before they even make it up the porch steps.

Emma laughs. “Yes, Henry, I did.”

The little boy stares up at Regina, brown eyes wide and excited. “And?” he asks, “Are you going to? Are you going to be my mom too?”

Regina’s smile widens to a grin, reaching forward with the hand not clasped in Emma’s to stroke a piece of Henry’s hair back into place. “Yes, Henry, I suppose I am.”

Henry punches the air. “Yes! I knew it I knew it! And now mom can teach me spells, and you can teach me ings!”

Both women chuckle. “I’m pleased to see your education is at the forefront of your mind, Henry,” Regina smiles at him.

“What’s forefront mean?” he asks, screwing his nose up at her.

“Let’s leave that for another lesson, shall we?” Emma replies. “There’s a couple of other people we need to talk to.” Her eyes move to the door and back, and Regina’s suddenly very nervous about what is waiting for her on the other side.

“Emma?” she asks, as she’s lead up the steps, Henry slipping a hand into hers and following behind.

The blonde doesn’t say anything though, just smiles a knowing smile as the door swings open.

“She said yes!” Emma calls as they walk inside and then Regina jumps out of her skin as she’s descended on by Ruby and the Aunts, all crowing excitedly.

Then she’s whisked away to the dining room where lunch seems to have already been prepared, and there’s ice cream, and brownies, and Lena’s chocolate fudge cake, and much more than anyone could possibly eat in a lifetime.

She meets Emma’s eyes across the table, and there’s amusement in them as the rest of the family chatter happily about wedding food, and sundae flavors, and something that sounds a suspicious amount like a feast composed entirely of chocolate.

“Does this mean I get to be an official Swan witch now then?” Regina asks and Emma shrugs.

“I don’t know. Who says I don’t want to be a Mills?”

“Your name’s far more magical, dear,” the brunette points out, but Emma’s got a look in her eye that Regina’s come to recognize means she’s plotting something.

“What if,” Emma asks, “we made a new name?” Regina just frowns in confusion. “How about we become Swan-Mills?”

Regina looks at her for a moment before her face is blossoming into a smile. “Henry?” she calls down the table, and expectant brown eyes turn to her.

“Henry, how would you like to be a Swan-Mills?”

The little boy’s eyes light up, and he jumps up and down excitedly in his chair.

Then the tall sundae glass in front of him explodes across the table and there’s ice cream everywhere, leaving the assembled women to stare at the boy in shock.

“Witch,” Mal corrects, with a little knowing smile on her face. “I think you’ll find, my dears, that what each of the three of you are, is a Swan-Mills _witch._ ”

 

~ Fin ~

 

 


End file.
